The Terrorist Incident
by EcoWarriorX
Summary: Blaine's in Lima, Kurt's in New York when an attack on NYC leaves the rest of the world reeling. There's no communication, no travel in or out, but no one is daring to complain. Someone or something is silencing them, and Glee club suspect the Government itself. What the hell is going on? Klaine. Ch. 11: Possibly the world's strangest roadtrip.
1. We Are Family?

I give you… The Terrorist Incident. It's a work in progress, but I have completed quite a few chapters already, so expect fairly regular updates. This first chapter is basically setting the scene for what should become an action-packed, epic story. Here, you get to meet Blaine's parents, and I give with my explanation for why we never see them.  
Enjoy!

* * *

Blaine didn't spend much time with his family, but Thanksgiving and Christmas were one of the few time where meals were eaten together, films were watched together and even Cooper came over. It was huge change from the usual. Blaine was used to his father being abroad on some work trip and his mother either with him, staying at some spa or off to a society do every day.

This was harder.

It wasn't that he hated his parents exactly; it was more that he felt uncomfortable around them. He knew they'd never fully accepted him for who he was, so he spent a lot of time trying to pretend to be oblivious to the not-so-subtle hints his Dad, especially, kept sending him.

'Pretty girl, that one, huh?' it was, when watching a commercial on TV.

'My colleague at the company has a daughter about your age. She's attractive, moderately intelligent and will be inheriting quite a sum. I'll introduce you at this evening's dinner.' That had been last year, just before a Christmas party at somebody's boss's house. That one had worked out all right, though; the girl had met him before at a Dalton girls-can-come party and knew him enough to spend the evening together rating the male guests.

And, on the rare occasions when he had to go out to a restaurant or something with his father, the man insisted on pointing out half-way decent girls too him. That was actually a rude and cheap thing to do, normally. But his father appeared to think it would all be worth it when Blaine finally felt an attraction to one of them.

Now it was the Sunday before Thanksgiving. His father and mother would be arriving home from a business trip to Russia (which had involved cocktail parties, hence his mother going too) in the evening, and his brother would drive over from wherever the hell he was now at about the same time.

Blaine's instructions were: make sure the cleaner has aired the master bedroom and Cooper's room. Get something ready for dinner. Stand by to welcome the family home. Remember that for now he is master of the house and must behave accordingly.

That's what his father had told him a few days ago during one of their brief phone calls (made, Blaine was pretty sure, to be certain he hadn't burned the house down).

So he'd done that, and was now in his room, daydreaming about what he and Kurt would do when he finally flew over from New York on Wednesday. Just the thought of seeing him again made him grin widely. They were going to have a meal at Breadstix by way of a first date before walking around town a bit. Nothing much, but much better than nothing when they hadn't seen each other since Kurt had moved.

Being the good and dutiful son he was, he had come downstairs as soon as he heard his parent's taxi draw up. He opened the door before it rang, hugged his mother with a brief kiss to the cheek and shook his father's hand in greeting. Then he took their coats to hang up in the cloakroom as he'd been taught from age four.

They sat down in the living room for some painful, stilted conversation on what the weather was like (fine), what school was like (fine), and how the trip to Russia had been (fine). His father asked to see his latest grades and, when Blaine handed him the prepared print-out, declared them satisfactory.

'I take it you've been working hard and completing all assignments to the best of your abilities?'

'Of course, Dad.'

'Spending your free time researching for school and preparing for the next topics, whilst spending an appropriate, moderate amount of time socializing?'

'Yes, Mum.'

He hated how they talked after business trips. Days of talking to upper-class Europeans and Russian oil sheiks totally changed their vocabulary for weeks. They got all stuck-up and overly classy.

'I hope 'socializing' didn't involve parties in this house after I expressly forbade it.'

If they could talk like that, so could he.

'No, Dad, naturally not. I just had some high-achieving classmates over to discuss and complete the more challenging school assignments.'

Not many people would describe Brittany, Tina, Mike and Sam that way, nor would they call 'practicing a fun dance routine' homework, but his parents didn't have to know that. They just looked vaguely relieved.

His father started telling him a witty anecdote of a Russian businessman who had said something hilarious at a dinner, but after the third 'and therefore, of course' Blaine began to lose interest. He put his 'smiling interestedly' face on and began to daydream about seeing Kurt again. They'd Skyped that morning, Kurt showing a design he was working on. He'd focused more on the excited, glowing enthusiasm in his boyfriend's voice as he explained how the colors worked and why he'd put that shape to the hem that on the picture of the dress, and Kurt almost certainly knew that.

'And then Mr. Wassilij said: 'And so did our host!'.' finished his father.

Realizing that that had been the punch line of something, Blaine laughed, unconvincingly. His father seemed satisfied and started describing the hotel in which they had stayed.

At that moment the doorbell rang, and Blaine jumped up, relieved, to go and open it.

His brother came in and hugged him. 'Hey, little bro.' he said, and then whispered in Blaine's ear: 'They being as bad as usual?'

'Worse.' Blaine whispered back.

Cooper gave a theatrical groan, but still beamed at his parents as he strode into the living room and started handing out huge hugs. 'Hey Dad, how's business? Great to see you, Mom, how was Russia? Meet any important people?'

Blaine followed on behind, grateful for his brother's skill in handling their parents. Cooper may not be an especially good actor, but he was good with people and with breezing through problems in a room. Their father liked him best and didn't hide it. Cooper was manly, more socially adept and so, a better son than Blaine.

He was more than accepting of Blaine- he hadn't been the least bothered when his younger brother came out, saying he'd 'known for ages' and there was 'nothing wrong with it'. He been supportive and wonderful right the way through, as long as acting didn't come into it.

They sat down again and their father started retelling his tales of Russia. Cooper made all the right noises of 'ooh' and 'wow', whilst winking at Blaine, who was trying to fight down a yawn.

When dinner was on the table, linen napkins and sparkling clean cutlery laid by the shining white plates, they all sat down for the first family meal in years. At first, everything was calm as usual, the food was complimented and they ate quietly.

Then Cooper turned to Blaine and said: 'You still going out with that guy Kurt?'

Blaine could uncomfortably feel his parent's eyes on him. He wasn't sure if they were even aware that their son had a boyfriend.

He kept his eyes steadily on Cooper, who was smiling encouragingly, to avoid looking at his father, and forced his voice into cheery nonchalance.

'Yeah, we're still dating.'

'You started going out months ago. Before you transferred schools, even. That's a pretty long time.'

'More than a year now, yeah. We've almost broken the current high school record.'

Cooper laughed. 'Isn't he living in New York now? Is that going OK? You told me about him working for a magazine or something…'

'He's interning with . He's been living in Brooklyn for the last few months. But it's cool, we Skype a lot, he's been over a few times, hopefully he'll be here again in a few days.'

He could still feel his silent parents watching them, and wished he knew whether they were looking disapproving or accepting. He didn't dare look, so he continued alternating gazes between his brother, his food and the tablecloth.

'What does he do for anyway? I've never met anyone who works there.'

'Mostly stuff like writing up comparisons and interviews, bit of designing. He shows me things he's working on sometimes. He's doing some pretty cool stuff.'

'And he's living…'

'In a Bushwick loft with some of our friends. You met Rachel Berry, also Santana.'

'Rachel was the loud one, right? The singer?'

'She's the loud one, Santana's the mean one.'

'Sounds a bit scary.'

'If anyone can handle them, Kurt can. I think they're having fun.'

Cooper chuckled and returned his attention to his food. Conversation over. Blaine risked a glance at his parents. They were paying no attention to him now, eating like they hadn't heard the conversation. Blaine felt relieved; he'd almost thought his dad would start yelling.

They finished the meal in silence. When Blaine and Cooper had put the plates in the dishwasher, their mother and Cooper went off to their bedrooms. Blaine and his father were left alone.

Blaine felt himself grow nervous again. He wanted, more than anything, for his parents to be all right with Kurt, to be fine with them being together. He wanted to be able to bring Kurt home for dinner like Cooper had been able to bring his girlfriends home. He wanted his parents to be there when- and it was definitely going to happen- they got married and became husbands.

But those dreams were far away and out of reach and, right now, his dad was trying to stare him down. He felt like a little kid again, caught playing with his dad's collection of historical figurines.

His father cleared his throat and Blaine tried to pull himself together.

'Boyfriend, huh?'

'Uh- yeah.' What else could he say?

His father stared at him a bit longer, and then said, brusquely: 'You happy?'

'Very happy, Dad.' said Blaine, surprised.

He thought that the look he got before his Dad left the room was an if-you-must-then-so-be-it look, but he might have interpreted it wrong. It could just have well have been a why-must-I-have-a-son-like-this look.

It could even have been both.

* * *

Thanks for reading and if you want to follow, review or favorite, feel absolutely free to do so. No, really. Be my guest.

Preview for the next installment: we meet Kurt, working hard in NYC- and the nightmare begins to unfold…


	2. Nightmare

Here's the next chapter to the terrorist drama. It's heating up now…

* * *

It was a pretty normal Monday morning in New York City. Nothing even hinted towards the nightmare that was to be.

Kurt woke up at six am sharp to the sound of Teenage Dream, sung by his boyfriend, on his cell alarm. His outfit already lay across a chair, always carefully picked out the day before, although sometimes he ended up changing his mind and picking out new garments.

His shower-and-skincare routine, plus of course the teasing of his hair into a perfect quiff, took the best part of half an hour, after which Rachel woke up. She wasn't the best of morning people. All she gave Kurt was a vague grunt.

It took Kurt his usual half hour to install himself in his clothes to his complete satisfaction. Tight white jeans, black shirt, white waistcoat, red tie. Then he had breakfast.

He didn't have to be at the Vogue offices until nine, but he liked to come at half past eight, because then he could make the coffee and that meant meeting important people and _that_ meant really interesting gossip and a chance to make a good impression.

He took the subway to Manhattan, using the time to phone Blaine, and then to the Vogue offices. He made some coffee and visited the main offices one by one. This was where he shone in comparison to other interns- he was pretty good at remembering what each person liked, and not even the usual milk-and-sugar preferences. He'd worked out a system of mug preferences, temperature preferences; he was even working on a list of which hand each person seemed to prefer the coffee in.

As a result, most people were glad to see him and he was able to pick up on the latest office chitchat.

The morning's work was nothing out of the ordinary. He was able to take his lunch break at two thirty, and strolled around Times Square to pick up a sandwich from a nearby bakery. At five, slightly earlier than usual, he headed back to his Bushwick loft.

Santana, who was still trying to find a job, was arguing again with Rachel, who had had a hard day at NYADA. Kurt, fed up with their bickering, suggested they take a walk to the nearest park, the Maria Hernandez.

'How old do you think we are? Five? I don't need taken for walkies.' snapped Santana, throwing another vicious glare at Rachel.

'Suit yourself.' shrugged Kurt. 'Just know that a walk in the fresh air stimulates your brain function and, more importantly, helps clear your complexion. And that is something you could do with.'

To his surprise, they both agreed after only about five more minutes of bitching at each other. So Kurt grabbed his laptop bag to finish some work whilst they were there and they headed out.

It was great at first when they got there. A few families had taken picnics out and there were a few joggers. Kurt found an empty spot in the middle of the grass and the girls lay down near him.

The first thing they knew of the disaster was the flash. The sky behind them briefly lit up a bright orange, immediately followed by a horrible shaking and the earth-shattering, low, rumbling noise of a huge explosion.

Immediately, the place was a riot. People started screaming and racing for cover. Everywhere, bricks and tiles were falling from houses, branches tearing off trees as a huge wall of pressure bore down on them. Kurt braced himself flat against the ground but was still propelled forward by several feet. He felt leaves and twigs raining down on him and someone smack into him from the side.

Then it was over, and suddenly everything was eerily, completely silent.

Kurt, dazed and bruised, sat up. His ears were tingling, and he realized why he couldn't hear: the huge noise had momentarily deafened him. He turned, trying to see through the haze of smoke and rubble. The person who had smacked into him was Rachel; she was whimpering and grabbing at him. He took her hand.

Santana was also close by them. She seemed to have struck her head on a tree and was cradling it in her hand, muttering something in Spanish.

Further away, other people were moving. He could see several families huddling together, a few joggers sitting dazed like him.

He didn't want to try getting up yet. What if another explosion came?

A brisk breeze had come up and was clearing away the smoke. A few people were standing now, picking their way through fallen objects. Kurt's ears were still ringing, but he could hear a bit now- sirens wailing somewhere in the city, someone crying.

He crawled over to where Santana was sitting, coaxing Rachel along with him.

Santana stopped muttering and looked up at him. An expression of incredible recognition and relief crossed her face. She had her hand on the huge lump on her head, but seemed otherwise okay.

After about ten more minutes, they realized vaguely that ambulances were pulling up and somewhere, helicopters were landing.

It might have been five more minutes or another half hour, Kurt couldn't tell, until someone handed the three of them a blanket and a bottle of water to share. He thanked them vaguely but was too dazed to unscrew the bottle. Rachel did it for him, and they took turns sipping from it.

'Santana, let me look at your head.' said Rachel. Her voice sounded strange, and Kurt realized it was the first thing any of them had said.

The bump was not so bad and there was no blood, but Santana looked slightly unfocused and Kurt knew that blows to the head could be anything from not dangerous to fatal. He made her lie down, reasoning that that was least dangerous.

A loudspeaker was hailing them from a police car somewhere. The words were too faint to hear at first, but as it drew nearer they heard: 'Make your way to the nearest meeting point. Make your way to-'

It looked like police were standing by the road, pointing people to the nearest meeting point. They were lucky, as this park _was_ the meeting point.

Someone- it looked like police again- was putting up a huge tent in the middle of the park. They were meant to walk over to it, but Kurt found he couldn't. First, his legs were too shaky. And secondly: what if that had only been the first explosion?


	3. Panic

I've never been to New York City or Ohio- nor, for that matter, the US- so all descriptions are based on my intensive online research. Also, I'm trying to incorporate American spelling and wording, but I'm not used to it.

If I get 'America' wrong, please tell me what doesn't make sense and I'll try to fix it. I'm just that bit too British for this, but I'm having fun trying.

And now- enjoy. It's drama all the way.

* * *

The Anderson family had managed to go a full day without any arguments, mostly by keeping fairly separate and only really meeting for meals, where they'd all been carefully, distantly polite.

Now they were in the living room, watching TV. Blaine was sitting next to Cooper on one couch, his parents on the other. They were watching the sort of movie their father liked- ones the media called 'clever' or 'mentally stimulating'. Cooper preferred action and Westerns, Blaine preferred musicals, but they weren't about to argue.

The film was over and the credits were rolling across the screen. Cooper reached over to switch the TV off, but their father stopped him.

'I always like to watch the news first, you know that.' he said.

The familiar intro to this channel's news program started up, and the female announcer's voice came on.

'Thousands injured and hundreds feared dead after today's explosions in Brooklyn, New York.'

The family sat numb as a live camera showed them horrific images of rubble and smoke. The voice went on:

'This evening's bombing of the New York subway is suspected by police officials to be the work of terrorists. The bomb, which had been planted by unknown persons on a subway train, exploded under Brooklyn at approximately six pm this evening, wrecking the train and those nearby and causing immense damage to the city above.'

The camera turned to a huge tent by a building- a school?

'Survivors are being brought to collection points where they await medical attention. Several thousand police officers, paramedics and US military soldiers are being flown in to attend to the wounded and clear the wreckage. Families and friends of those in New York are asked to remain calm as the damage is evaluated.'

The picture cut to a serious-looking man, who started talking about finding the perpetrators and New York being temporarily cut off from transport networks to avoid further terrorist activities. Blaine vaguely heard something about the possibilities of contaminated water and further bombs, but his ears were buzzing and his vision was blurring.

All he could think was: _Kurt._

His father had switched off the TV and turned to him, looking concerned, but Blaine yelled at him to put it on again, damn it, _Kurt_ might be on there somewhere…

His brother was telling him to ring him up, call his cell, and he got out his phone and blindly called Kurt's number. He let it ring until the answering message came on, and then dropped it on the couch, his face buried in his hands.

His brother was saying something about Kurt being fine, being safe, he wouldn't have been on that train-

'You don't get it.' said Blaine tonelessly. 'He takes the subway home at five thirty. He spends more than half an hour travelling. That was his train, and even if it wasn't, he was underneath Brooklyn on another one.' He felt numbly surprised that he could still speak coherently. Could still breathe, even.

'But you don't know for sure. Try again.' his brother insisted.

He tried again, holding his cell to his ear and counting the ringtones, concentrating on them so as not to break down. His parents had come over to the couch and were whispering together, but he blocked them out.

Then, miracle of miracles:

'Blaine?' A soft, exhausted voice.

'Kurt-' Blaine choked. 'Kurt- are you-'

'I'm okay, Blaine. I'm okay.'

The relief was overwhelming, drowning; but Blaine forced himself to focus.

'Where- where are you?'

Kurt was saying something in that tired, tired voice about a park, about going home early and being unharmed, about being in a tent with other survivors.

'Are- Rachel and Santana, are they okay?'

'Santana's a little concussed, but otherwise fine. Rachel's fine too. Blaine, it's such a relief to hear your voice.'

'I love you, Kurt. I love you so much.' He had to say it, because Kurt was alive, not dead, and it was a miracle.

Kurt was replying- that he loved Blaine too, that he was okay. Maybe he didn't quite believe it himself yet.

'D'you- d'you want me to phone your Dad?'

'That would be great. My cell's running low and I've got no way of charging it. Tell my Dad that I'm safe, I love him, and I'll phone when I can. Rachel and Santana's parents, too, if you could. Maybe you could get them to spread the word that they're fine.' There was some whispering in the background, and then: 'Santana's desperate you phone Brittany. Is that OK?'

'Yeah. Yeah, sure, I'll do that. Anyone else?'

'I think that's it for now. I won't be able to speak to you again until I've charged up my cell. I have my laptop but the Internet's down all over New York, I don't think it'll be up again for ages. You might not hear from me again for a few days, so don't worry when you don't.'

He sounded determinedly business-like, as though he was trying hard to focus on technicalities. But Blaine has to ask about what happened.

'It- it must have been horrific.'

'It was awful, Blaine. It was- But I'm fine, remember that. I'm fine and I love you.'

'I love you too.'

'I hope we can speak again soon.' The determinedly businesslike voice was wavering. 'I'll concentrate on trying to find a charger. Bye, Blaine.' His voice broke.

'Bye, sweetheart.'

Blaine ended the call and realized that he was crying. Wordlessly, his brother leant over and hugged him tight. He closed his eyes, still crying.

'So he's okay?' came his brother's deep voice.

'He's fine.' said Blaine through his tears. 'He's fine.'

His dad put a heavy hand on his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly, his mom had sat down on the couch next to him. They felt warm and comforting and _there_.

He still had a job to do. He called Mr. Hummel first.

'Anderson, that you? You heard from my boy?' He sounded frantic.

'I have and he's fine. I was on the phone to him a moment ago.'

'How the hell did he survive that? He takes that train, I know he does. You sure? You absolutely sure my boy's fine?' There was a note of hysteria in Kurt's father's voice.

'He told me himself. But he has no access to a charger and his phone's died. He asked me to tell you that he's OK, that he loves you and will phone as soon as he can. He's with Santana and Britt. They happened to be away from the centre of the… explosion.'

'He's- he's one lucky kid. I'm one lucky dad.'

'Yeah. Yeah, we're… so lucky...'

'All those poor other guys- and it was just a stroke of dumb luck that he-'

Burt was choking up, but to Blaine's relief- he could feel his own tears prickling- Carole was in the background, speaking softly to Burt.

'I gotta go and tell the girl's parents that they're OK. I- we can talk again soon.'

'Sure. You're a good kid. Thanks for phoning me.' Burt's voice sounded strangely muffled, and Blaine suddenly realized that the image of Burt- big, strong Congressman Burt- crying, just didn't fit his mental image.

He dialed Santana's hysterical mom, who thanked him in rapid, tearful Spanish, and one of Rachel's dads, who he could hear murmuring reassuringly to his partner. Finally, he called Brittany, who sounded, for once, totally normal and intelligible, if shocked, as she asked how Santana was doing and when they would be able to talk.

The whole time, his family was around him, supporting him silently. That alone was enough to make him tear up again. He'd never realized quite how much he'd missed feeling loved and supported by his parents. Suddenly, a wild and slightly terrifying feeling of elation swept through him. Kurt was alive and safe, his family was closer to him than they had been for years, he was accepted and loved and _Kurt was fine_.

It wasn't until his father muttered about having to go and make some phone calls and his mother started whispering about friends in New York that the truth hit him again, followed by a dull, dreading realization.

A large part of New York City had been bombed.

New York City had been bombed.

The television was still blaring, although Cooper had turned the volume down. Grim-faced, he turned it up again.

The blurred, shaky footage was horrific. A few survivors- there were not many- were being pulled out of a burning underground train. Skyscrapers directly above the site of the explosion had collapsed, burying other buildings underneath them. Mercifully, the area which had been this badly damaged was relatively small, the rest of Brooklyn and the other boroughs having got away with damaged buildings and cracked pipes, but the damage was still immense.

Most of the small fires caused by the explosion had been put out, leaving blackened, scorched buildings and streets. Roads had been cracked and a small part of the Underground had caved in.

Worst of all were the people- some injured, some OK, but all in shell-shocked huddles. The tents which the television and Kurt had mentioned were full of terrified survivors being given first aid help and food.

Who did he know, other than Kurt, who lived in New York? He couldn't actually think of anyone right now, but he knew his parents knew several New Yorkers. And Kurt and the girls must have friends all over the city. It was incredibly unlikely that they had all survived.

He felt almost guilty, watching people wailing as the dead were slowly released, that those he cared so dearly for had survived. All over the USA- probably all over the world- people would have lost someone they knew and loved.

He listened with a sort of morbid, horrified interest to the theories being expounded upon by the TV guys. Who had done it? How had it been done? Was this only the first in a series of attacks? Was America being targeted by another nation or an organization? Maybe both? How many people had died?

The details of 9/11 were being discussed again, links being searched for. One thing was clear- New York City was going to be cut off for days to stop any potential terrorists fleeing before they were caught. What looked like all America's police and military were patrolling the city, cordoning off building which had been searched for survivors. The city was chaos- people trying to flee but not allowed to, people trying to go back to their homes but being stopped. Apparently, the mains water and gas had been damaged and electricity was out over most of the city. Traffic was at a standstill, and abandoned cars lay like discarded trash over the roads.

Somewhere, in one of those huge tents was Kurt, maybe wrapped up in an emergency blanket, huddled up with Rachel and Santana. Maybe they were trying to find out what had happened to others, although the lists of casualties and survivors would likely not be completed for days, maybe weeks.

Maybe. Maybe. Everything was so uncertain.


	4. Defying Dread

Hey guys!

Here, we learn what happened next in New York… and, after the misery, a moment of pure Glee…

* * *

It was so very loud in the tent.

Most of the crying and screaming had stopped, but had given way to a thousand hysterical conversations between people who knew each other and people who didn't.

There weren't nearly enough chairs to go around; Kurt and the girls were sitting on a blanket together with a family with two small kids. The children were being loud, wanting to go outside, wanting to know why they were all in a tent, why the big scary noise had made all the smoke but no fire, why those people were crying, when they could go home. The parents were in shock, unable to answer their kids and incapable of speaking generally.

Kurt took pity on them and started speaking to the children, desperate for distraction.

He discovered from the bright, chatty girl that they were twins, the their names were Joey and Lucy, that they were four years old (which, as Lucy told him solemnly, made them Big Kids), that they had been having a picnic when the Big Noise came and all the air went 'whoosh!' and their sandwiches got squashed by being fallen on by Mommy. Joey, who was somewhat quieter, seemed to decide that Mommy and Daddy weren't going to be talking for a while, and sat on Rachel's lap.

Lucy started telling Kurt about everything she could think of in a long rush of words, from kindergarten to her new princess bed cover, which was pink, and her matching princess dress, which was also pink but a prettier pink with all sparkly thingies on. She was very impressed when Kurt told her part of his job was to design 'princess dresses' for grown-up ladies to wear.

Kurt, for his part, was thankful for the distraction of the excitable little girl. It stopped him from dwelling on what was happening elsewhere in the city and what the hell was going to happen next. It gave him other stuff to think about than horrible thoughts of what-if-that-was-just-the-start and who he knew who could be dead right know. Describing the evening gown he was currently working on felt therapeutic, and he noticed Rachel, Santana and the little boy listening to him talk.

The kid's parents still seemed to be out of it. They were just sitting there, dazed.

He was worried about Santana's eyes, which were drifting slowly in and out of focus. She'd been given a brief check-over by a harassed medic, who'd said she was fine, just a little concussed, and needed to rest. He'd been more worried by the adults with full-on shock, but as that wasn't actually, currently life-threatening, had moved on to more seriously injured people.

'Does it have sparkly thingies on it like my princess dress?'

Kurt had to concentrate for a moment to remember what they had been talking about. Oh right, the gown.

'It has a swirly pattern of sparkly lilac gemstones around the front of the neck.' Somebody was crying outside.

'What's lilac?'

'It's like purple, but sort of softer and paler.' Running feet beyond the tent- panting-

'Like my socks?'

'Yes, just like your socks.' Another loud sob, followed by a strangled yelp. A medic's voice, soothing. Kurt pulled the little girl instinctually closer.

'I like that color. Joey says it's girly.'

'No, it's not. I like it too.'

'Which proves her Joey's point. 'Cos if _you_ like it, then it's sure gonna be 'girly', lady boy.' Santana appeared to have been listening closely, and although her speech was a little slurred, the return of her insults had to be a good thing. Kurt ignored the last part of her short speech and beamed at her.

'Why does that lady think you like girly things?'

'Because I like pretty things like nice clothes and nice colors. The lady thinks that's girly.'

'I don't think you're girly. I think you're a real pretty boy.' said Lucy unselfconsciously, poking at his hair with a small, warm finger. Santana gave a snort, and Kurt realized that, concussion aside, she was never forgetting that one. Ever.

'I see Blaine has competition.'

Yeah, she was definitely recovering.

'Who's Blaine?' Were kids always this sharp-minded and quick to pick up on things?

'He's my boyfriend.' A stab of ache in his chest. He wanted him so badly, wanted Blaine to hold him, to stroke his cheek like he always did, to tell him everything was going to be okay…

'Oh. Is he pretty too?'

Kurt waited for a sarcastic remark from Santana, but she had leant her head on Rachel's shoulder and closed her eyes. He realized that she was still feeling unwell, probably would be for ages. He looked back over to the children's parents. They were staring ahead as though at something invisible to everyone else, faces pale and blank. The mother was blinking a little more now- maybe that was a good sign?

All Kurt could do right now, he realized, was keep these kids and his friends occupied until the authorities- whoever they were right now- had worked out what happened next. Until the mess outside had been cleared up. Until they knew if they even had a home anymore…

'Tell me if he's pretty.' demanded Lucy again. Kurt blinked, realizing he'd phased out again.

'Um- yeah, he's very pretty.' An image of warm hazel eyes and messy, wild curls rose up unbidden, and he had to swallow away the longing which accompanied it. 'Very pretty.'

'He's more kinda handsome than pretty.' offered Rachel. The boy in her lap seemed to have fallen asleep, his thumb firmly stuck in his mouth. 'You're pretty, though, Kurt. I agree with Lucy.'

This conversation was quite probably the weirdest he'd ever had. But it was better than dwelling on- other things, so he played along with it.

'Why, thank you, Rachel. You're beautiful yourself.'

'Am I beauty?' piped up Lucy.

'Very beauty.' he said, smiling. Lucy beamed toothily.

They played I Spy for a while, although that got rather depressing in a tent full of injured people. Then Rachel remembered a game she said she'd used to play with her dads, where the group works together to make up a story. That was more interesting for the bouncy little girl, who soon had imaginary princesses being 'eated right up' by big monsters with Nasty Sharp Claws. (Kurt had never realized what macabre minds four-year-old children had).

Thankfully, her mom was coming slowly back to life, her eyes coming back into focus. She gazed at her kids, one playing a story game with total strangers, the other fast asleep on the lap of one of the strangers. After a while, Kurt heard her holding a brief, whispered conversation with a passing medic. Kurt heard 'bomb' and 'terrorists' and 'it'll be fine, ma'am, they'll catch them in no time'.

'And then the princess came out of the monster's tummy and went home for teatime. Her mommy gave her salad and chips and cake, but no hot chocolate 'cos it wasn't a Sunday. Your turn, lady with Joey on your lap.'

Rachel started telling how the princess went back outside because she had a starring role in a musical theatre show. Her voice was low and dramatic, and her hands gestured over Joey's sleeping form.

'It was the biggest and best show in New York, with hundreds of thousands of people watching it. The princess had the most important part in it, with lots of solos.'

'What's a solo?' interrupted Lucy.

'A solo's where you get to sing parts of a song, sometimes the whole song, all by yourself.'

'What song did the princess sing?'

'Defying Gravity.' said Kurt immediately.

'I wasn't actually thinking of _Wicked_, but okay.'

'I don't think the princess should sing it,' said Kurt, feigning petulance, 'I think the prince should.'

'There isn't one.'

'Fine. The princess gets to sing the best song- as per always.'

'No, better idea. She does a duet with her best friend, the prince, on stage and everyone loves it. And he hits the top note clear and strong.'

'Is this the story?' asked Lucy, confused.

'Uh- yeah.' said Rachel. 'The princess sings Defying Gravity in the musical and she's amazing and everybody cheers for her.'

'Get a life, Berry.' murmured Santana, obviously still half asleep.

'What song is that? Deff thing?' asked Lucy.

'It's- oh, it's just this song Kurt and I sang in high school.'

'Just a song? I'll have you know it's a personal favorite.' said Kurt.

'How does it go?'

'Uh- well- it kinda starts like: _Something has changed within me, something is not the same_. _I'm through with playing by the rules of someone else's game_.'

Rachel sang it as quietly as she could, trying not to wake up the boy on her lap.

Kurt joined in the way they'd practiced when they'd worked out a duet version. The calm, almost meditating feeling he always got when singing began to creep up on him, warming him and washing away all thoughts of bombs and terrorists. Almost before he knew it, they had reached his favorite part, and he was singing _I'll try defying gravity_ with Rachel, holding the notes like he'd been practicing since he'd first heard this song and realized how much it meant to him.

They were still singing quietly, but out of the corner of his eye he noticed tired, worn-out eyes turning to them, blinking as they sang out that final, clear note, the one which never failed to raise his mood and make him feel everything was okay.

The note came to an end, and Kurt realized how still it had become around them. The crying, the wailing, even most of the horrified conversations had stopped, and people were watching them. A few began to clap softly, and Kurt realized why. They needed distraction from the horrors around them, especially the children, whilst they came to terms with it. A few of the kids had crept up during the song.

'Again, again! I like that song!' said Lucy, clapping. With sudden clarity, Kurt saw that not only did their mother seem fully awake now, their father had lost his million-mile stare and was smiling at his son, still in Rachel's arms but wide awake.

Rachel beamed at Kurt. 'This is good! This is- it's useful! We can help people here! And we'll be remembered for it! We can sing them happy!'

Santana rolled her tired eyes. 'Really? Half the city's been blown up, we're sitting in a weird urban refugee camp and all you can think about is what people will remember you for?' She yawned. 'But we need something to do in this dump, I guess.'

It took then less than two minutes to turn the blanket into a makeshift stage. The parents moved onto another blanket, whilst the two children helped straighten the 'stage'.

A tall man with an arm in a sling glanced over curiously, saw Rachel, and stopped with a smile.

'Berry!'

They talked to him for a while, and Kurt learned that Rachel knew him from NYADA and he was called Marty or Martin or something- and more importantly, he could sing even though one of his arms was badly broken.

The three of them stood on the stage blanket, vaguely nervous. They launched straight into Imagine, without any kind of backup instruments. Santana and Kurt attempted a sort of a cappella backup whilst Rachel and NYADA Guy, who'd done it in rehearsal weeks ago, did a duet.

One by one, people- mainly kids- crept up and sat down in front of the blanket, gazing at the singers. Without a proper warm-up and in their still-shocked state, they weren't amazingly good- but it was enough.

Some of the kids knew the lyrics and were singing along gustily. Most of them were injured in some way- Kurt could see slings and bandages and nasty scratches- but they joined in anyhow.

Soon, they were begging for particular songs, from current hits to pre-school favorites. It was a bigger mix than anything they'd even done before.

The crowd of kids grew, seemingly magnetically attracted, like they always are, by the whisper of something fun. They sat in wide-eyed rows, smiling and yelling out suggestions after every song.

Kurt and the others sang We Will Rock You about three times, because the kids were having so much fun stamping and yelling. Rachel and Santana did their Walking on Sunshine/Halo mash-up, and Kurt did 'Mr. Cellophane' by himself. NYADA Guy was, it turned out, a very talented vocalist, and knew a whole list of duets to do with Rachel.

Kurt noticed that it had gotten very dark outside, and that more injured people were being brought in and treated. Also, their crowd of watchers was still growing, even though they had most of the kids already- parents coming to see what their kids were doing, people seeking solace in music.

Somehow, every musician, dancer and singer in the tent began to gravitate towards them. The tiny stage was abandoned for a large space of tent, fenced off by smiling children. A few guitars had been found, someone had a violin with them; drum were fashioned out of lunchboxes and cups. They did pretty much everything they could think of, with real instruments now and Santana doing an impromptu dance with some other people.

The emergency helpers, maybe police, he didn't know, had set up huge lanterns around the ceiling of the tent. Most people were sitting down now, listening intently. The few chairs had been given to the elderly, badly injured and others who needed them.

It was amazing how the atmosphere had changed. Yes, they were terrified, they had no clue what the hell had been going on, they didn't know if their friends were alive or what the future was going to hold. But somehow, the music was bringing out hope in them; and as Kurt looked at hundreds of pairs of shining children's eyes, he realized what a miracle that precious hope was.

* * *

Thank you for reading! Follow, favorite, and make my day with a review.

-EcoWarrior


	5. Glee Can't Be Stopped

Hey guys!

Thanks for your support via reviewing and following/favoriting. I really appreciate your thoughts.

This chapter is so very Glee, which I hope is a good thing.

* * *

Blaine hadn't gone to sleep that awful, awful night. Neither had Cooper. Silently, without even talking about it, they'd pushed the furniture in the living room to one side and brought their bedding down. They'd made dens this way sometimes, back when they were little kids, before his parent's business trips and social lives had grown more important than their children's happiness, before Blaine's perceived differentness had split up the family. Something about the piles of blankets and pillows and the presence of another was inherently comforting, and right now, they needed that comfort.

It started to rain outside, heavy rain washing down the windows and hammering on the roof.

The television was running quietly in the corner, showing only re-runs of the footage they'd already seen, replaying those terrible images over and over. Blaine still stared at it in the hope of seeing Kurt or anyone he knew.

The doorbell rang. Cooper let in a rain-soaked Brittany.

'Hey, Blaine.' she said quietly. 'My parents aren't at home right now, and I was wondering if I could stay for the evening. Would that be okay?'

'Sure.' said Blaine. She, after all, was in a similar position to him. They needed each other.

Five minutes later, the phone rang. Cooper answered it. After a moment, he said: 'It's Mr. Hummel, asking if he can come over and speak to you. And Finn wants to know whether Rachel's- well, you know. Whether she's okay.'

'Tell them to come over.' said Blaine.

His best friend Sam arrived before the Hummels did, rushing over to Blaine like a whirlwind and hugging him hard. 'I'm so sorry, dude. Are you okay? Have you heard anything from him? Man, I'm sorry.'

By the time another hour had passed, the Hummels had arrived. Shortly after, another knock on the door revealed Mr. Schue.

'I'm sorry for turning up like this, but I called Mr. Hummel and Brittany and got no answer, and when I called Sam his mom said he was here, and when I called here the phone was in use, so I just came over. How are you guys doing?'

They let him into the living room and he joined the crowd of people staring at the television screen and talking softly.

Soon, it had turned into a sort of weird, creepy, depressing 'slumber party', silent except for the occasional 'What time is it?' and the sound of the television. The phone was in constant use, too- it seemed no one in Lima, probably in the US, was sleeping. Instead, people were calling each other, asking for news of loved ones, trying to phone people in New York but having no luck- the phone lines had failed or been cut off.

Mrs. Anderson fetched everyone drinks and then retreated to the kitchen. Mr. Anderson spoke briefly with Mr. Schue and Mr. Hummel before following her.

A commentator appeared briefly on the screen to explain that journalists and reporters had been told to get out of the way for rescue work and no helicopters or planes, other than military or police, were allowed into the city. That, he explained, was why no new pictures or film footage could be shown.

Sam, having taken over Blaine's laptop, took to the Internet and discovered that a very few videos had been uploaded onto social networking sites. He began to play them, one after the other, shaky videos filmed with cell phones showing, mainly, the interior of the rescue tents and the rubble. Sometimes a voice could be heard, talking about where they were and what had happened. Other videos just showed the destruction in silence.

Then: 'Hey, guys. There's- there's _music_ here-' said Sam, and they looked up.

The screen showed an image of a tent interior, like most of the previous videos. You really could hear music and a voice speaking in the background. 'It seems that even amidst horror, death and destruction, these plucky New Yorkers have found a way to keep our morale up.'

Everyone in the Anderson's living room held their breaths and watched. Whoever was filming showed crowds of children, sitting cross-legged on the floor and smiling. Then the camera moved to show the source of the music.

Sam gasped. Someone was singing Country Roads with a simple guitar backing. Someone very familiar.

Rachel Berry, Kurt Hummel, Santana Lopez and several others were standing against the edge of the tent, singing to the crowd of children. A tall man with a guitar was strumming along, whilst several others tapped the beat with cups and boxes, sitting on the floor.

The living room exploded into a babble of excitement. They were in uproar, punching the air and whooping.

What were the chances? thought Blaine, as Mr. Schue yelled something and Finn tackled Sam to the floor, shouting: 'It's them! IT'S THEM!'

Blaine grinned; Sam hugged him fiercely. He saw Mr. Schue being punched in the side by an ecstatic Mr. Hummel. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson came rushing into the room, panicking about the noise and asking what was going on. Finn yelled: 'IT'S MY BROTHER AND GIRLFRIEND! THEY'RE ON THIS VIDEO!'

'Shut up!' shouted Cooper. 'He's talking!'

They crowded around the laptop again. Onscreen, Kurt appeared to have been listening to a tall man in uniform, who was walking away.

'Listen up, you guys!' he called. 'They've gotten hold of more blankets and sleeping bags. We'll all have to share with our friends and family, else there won't be enough to go around. We'll do one more song, then it's bedtime for everyone. Remember, the medics have got first aid stuff if you need it and you can get water and soup outside. Okay- you'll probably know this last song.'

The guitar started up again, and the tall guy playing it started to sing. _'She was just a lonely girl…'_

Blaine's living room went mad once again as their friends onscreen started singing Don't Stop Believing. Almost the entire tent- and it looked to be a pretty big tent- was singing along.

Finn was sobbing, watching Rachel sing so many miles away. Blaine put an arm round his shoulders and grabbed Sam's hand. Sam, in turn, took up Brittany's hand, and they sang the song that had become so iconic for their Glee club. The song that had been the start of their confidence, the start of everything.

The last note came, and the assembled kids and their parents clapped and cheered. It was amazing to remember the total devastation outside and the horrors that had occurred and then see the smiling faces of the crowd.

Blaine couldn't stop smiling as the screen went dark. His Kurt, his boyfriend was being a hero to all these desperate people after such horrors. Not the city's leaders, not the community leaders but Kurt. He felt so proud.

So incredibly proud.

* * *

This is a short one, but sweet, as they say. And necessary. You see, after the next chapter, things are going to start getting trickier…

Review are appreciated. Also, I answer whenever I can.


	6. Lockdown

Hey guys! Here's the next chapter in this drama. The last one was fluff and happiness… now the real stuff's starting up…

Enjoy.

* * *

**Tuesday**

The Lima News  
**New York Damaged By Explosion**  
_Iconic USA city targeted yesterday by terrorist activities_

Ohio Daily  
**New York Shielded, 'Bubble' In Place**  
_All networks closed to protect NYC and the American nation_

* * *

**Wednesday**

The Lima News  
**Shelter Still Around New York City**  
_Government 'Bubble' continues to protect the city_

Ohio Daily  
**Government List Published Online**  
_Numbers of listed survivors continue to rise_

* * *

He didn't hear or see anything from Kurt for days.

New York City was still in total lockdown. Nobody and nothing was allowed in or out except for government sanctioned deliveries of goods and helpers. All over the world, panicked governments and the media were doing nothing but talking and arguing about the New York City Bombing.

Had it been just a one-off attack by some lone group of terrorists? Had it been a suicide bombing? The explosion, records showed, had been far larger than most suicide bombings, but that was no proof. All anyone knew- and all the media said- was that what had happened in New York had not been explained and could potentially happen anywhere else.

Bit by bit, the lists of casualties and survivors were being made public via television and radio broadcasts. An internet signal blocker had been set up around NYC- this was to stop communication between the possible terrorist and their presumed terrorist network. What it meant was that no information could be passed between those in what was become known as 'the Bubble' and the rest of the world unless passed through government channels.

The social media were in a frenzy- almost every user knew someone in NYC and was trying to get hold of them, but of course there was no way for them to log on. Even had the internet been available, the city was feeding off emergency generators and electricity was as rare as gold.

School was no longer compulsory for the entire week around Thanksgiving. It was uncertain when lessons would resume- the terror ruling the country made learning impossible and nearly everyone was waiting for news of someone.

Kurt's name had already been registered as a Survivor, also Santana and Brittany. Although Blaine and the others had known they were safe- because of what must have been one of the final calls to be made in New York, as well as that miraculous video footage- having it down in official green on the newly established official listing site still felt good.

That video had gone viral on YouTube, and Blaine spent every spare moment watching and re-watching those precious few minutes in which you could see a pale but otherwise unharmed Kurt singing to a tent of survivors. He blessed that one person who had sent off his or her video just before all Internet was 'slammed down', as people were calling it.

The government was broadcasting regular, controlled information on what was going on in the 'Bubble' to stop absolute panic from breaking out. The world knew from that all safe living space in NYC had been double-checked and then allotted to survivors. All trade in the city had been closed down, although Blaine suspected that there were probably black market dealings. Instead of buying food, New Yorkers were given rations every morning. Rumor had it that there were plans for ration books, like during the World Wars, to make sure that food was divided equally.

Apart from that, nothing was heard from the Bubble save for the growing lists.

Blaine sat on the couch again. He'd pretty much lived on it since that fateful evening, with the TV on, radio next to him, laptop on his lap, watching that video, checking the list. Every afternoon, friends and family from Lima and around would meet up in his family's living room.

It had already become a ritual for them all- wake up, check the List, turn on the television, eat breakfast, search the Internet for news, check the List, read the newspaper, eat lunch, search the Internet again, go to the Andersons to see how everyone was coping.

And in between came the phone calls- to family and friends in other towns, other states, other countries. People wanted to stay connected to everyone else, seemed to worry that another city would be bombed in between calls.

By half past three, the Anderson home was once again filled with people. They'd chosen it because it was by far the largest family home of all of them- for once, Blaine was glad of his father's love for status symbols and grandeur.

The group had grown from that first collection of terrified friends as word spread that the Anderson's place was Where You Meet.

David had come the day after the explosion, David Karofsky, surprising everyone by knocking on the door and anxiously asking whether anyone had heard from Kurt and whether it was really him on that video. He'd gone away again pretty quickly and then returned, this time with some food, which he wielded in front of him as though hoping it'd gain him acceptance.

Of course they'd accepted him- what were old feuds and enmities worth, now that everyone was scared and needed support? Any friend of a New Yorker was welcome in the Anderson's living room in the afternoon, to bring food and anxiously watch the television and tell each other, over and over again, that surely everyone they knew was fine.

Mr. and Mrs. Anderson welcomed them. At first, it had surprised Blaine- they had never been particularly friendly to his new public school friends before. Then he realized why- the community was warming to them, they were getting more important. 'The Anderson's' was becoming a synonym for 'that place where everything goes on', 'that place where we all meet'.

So there they all where. They had all the newspapers spread out across the table, and were constantly checking the TV and radio for news.

But something was starting to worry them.

'Look at this.' said Mr. Schue, jabbing his finger at a newspaper caption. 'See that? It says: '_Numbers of listed survivors continue to rise'_. Survivors.'

They considered it for a moment.

'We're not stupid.' said Mr. Hummel. 'We've seen those lists. And it's not just the numbers of survivors rising. The casualties are in the thousands already.'

'Then why aren't they mentioning it?'

'Trying to be cheerful?'

'But then-' to everyone's surprise, it was Karofsky speaking, '-look here. They're calling the Bubble a 'shelter' and a 'protection'. They're making it look like a huge gift to us instead of something blocking us off from the city.'

They looked at the papers. It was true. Every one of them spoke of the protection of the Bubble, how wonderful it was, and no other aspects of it- surprising, when the media usually prophesied the dark things.

'It's the TV, too.' continued Karofsky. It was the most they'd heard him speak in months. 'I noticed this morning. The news people were talking about most of the debris being cleared and the rescue forces being well on the way to repairing all damage. Stuff like that. But why, if that's true, won't they let a single damn camera in?'

They were silent, thinking about it. Finally, it was Mr. Hummel who broke the silence.

'They're hiding something from us. Someone's hiding something big from us. And the media's in on it.'

'Notice,' said Cooper bitterly, '-how they're always going on about _government_ protection and _government_ lists? It's not just the media. It's the US government. They have something to hide.'

'They're clamping down on the media.' said Blaine. He hadn't spoken for ages. His voice still felt weird. 'The newspapers, TV, radio. They're stopping them from reporting the bad stuff.'

'They're not stopping us from reading the Casualties List, though, are they?'

Someone quickly opened it up on their phone. It was still there.

'No. That would cause huge protest. But I bet they would rather we forget about it. That's why they're only mentioning the survivors.'

'What about the social media? Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, YouTube- has that still got people's real thoughts?'

Blaine quickly pulled up some of the sites on his laptop.

It didn't take much searching to find what they were looking for.

'Bit strange how the Bbbl is being called good…' someone had written. It was carefully and tentatively phrased. They didn't want to get into trouble.

'They _are_ writing stuff.' he said. 'Just really, really carefully. They're afraid.'

'And there's still nothing from the City? No blogs, no videos, no messages?'

'Nothing.'

They fell silent again. The magnitude of the situation was becoming clear.

Something was going on underneath that Bubble. Something their own Government didn't want them knowing.

Something was up.

Blaine found himself worried about Kurt again. Automatically, without thinking about it, he opened the YouTube video and started watching his boyfriend sing to survivors. It had become a way of reassuring himself that yes, they were fine.

'Hey, look.' said Karofsky. 'Look at the views.'

They looked.

345.678.362 views and climbing.

'Wow. That's, like, nearly 350 thousand.' said Brittany.

'350 million, actually.' said Blaine, shakily.

'Whoah, bro.' said Cooper in an overly-cheerful voice. 'Your boyfriend's a star. Look at this, Mr. Hummel, Mrs. Hummel, Finn. Your Kurt is famous. Like, real famous.'

Blaine scrolled briefly through the comments.

'So brave! Its gr8! I heart you guys!'

'I hope these guys are still safe and happy! Thanx for inspiration & courage!'

'Even after that terror, theyr doing this. And they can sing like really great.'

Finn grinned. 'People are- people are loving it.'

'Yeah…' said Mr. Schue slowly. His voice had a sense of dawning dread. 'Yeah… they've become a symbol of courage and inspiration for, and about, the people who've been hurt. Inside the Bubble. The Bubble the Government wants us to know nothing about.'

'Damn.' said Mr. Hummel. 'My son's made himself a government enemy, hasn't he?'

'Either the government's relieved that everyone had something this positive to look at or- well- let's look at that video again.'

Blaine hit replay. Mr. Schue put his hand on the mouse.

He paused it.

'Look. Here you can see all these horrific injuries. Missing limbs, bandaged-up heads- that woman's lost an eye. This video tells us so much about what happened before. So maybe whatever the government's trying to hide is in here, too.'

'Then why don't they just delete it?'

'That would cause uproar. People would panic. Look how popular this video is. They want to avoid unnecessary fuss.'

'But who exactly is 'they'?'

'That-' said Mr. Schue grimly, '-is the question. And I think, on the whole, it would be wise if we didn't shout about this. Because 'they', whoever they are, wouldn't be pleased if they knew we suspected.'

* * *

Thanks for reading and share your thoughts with me.


	7. Emotional Suffocation

Hey guys!

Thank you so much for all your wonderful reviewing, following and liking. I really appreciate it.

* * *

Thanksgiving, three days after the Incident, didn't feel like Thanksgiving. In fact, it felt quite wrong to celebrate when their friends might be in danger.

Nonetheless, Blaine's mom had thrown herself into baking and decorating and organizing. She'd found several friend's names on the list of casualties, and Blaine realized she was trying to distract herself by working hard and constantly. It was a change from the way she usually handled grief and difficulties- by withdrawing and growing depressed. Was that a good thing? Blaine couldn't tell.

After a few hours, the house smelled of turkey, stuffing, pumpkin pies, roasted sweet potato and a million other delicious things.

Blaine, helping his Mom in the kitchen for the same reason she was- distraction- noticed that they were making far more than they could possibly eat in weeks, and she was trying out recipes she never had before. Pecan and walnut pies, homemade bread, muffins and cookies of every description, potatoes prepared in about a million ways, complicated trifles with cream and fruit and sponge- everything she could think of. And he was helping her.

Blaine's relationship with his mom had been strained since he was thirteen. She'd loved him, of course; but he was disappointing his father by not fulfilling the man's ideals, and- he only realized it now- his mom had had to fill that gap by being an über-perfect wife.

She definitely didn't mind all the cocktail parties, company dinners and trips abroad, but maybe having to keep up the image of the beautiful, intelligent, supportive wife all the time had been stressing her out more than Blaine had ever realized.

Pulling a tray of perfectly roasted vegetables out of the oven, Blaine wondered: Now that the air was finally, finally clearing between him and his father- would she be able to stop filling that gap and just be his Mom again? Even though he was almost an adult now?

He started dicing potatoes. He wasn't a very good cook- Kurt was better- but he could at least do this menial stuff. Kurt could do the most amazing things with baking. Kurt. Oh, Kurt.

Blaine's mom laid a soft, floury hand on his shoulder. Had he said the name aloud or was she just reading his mind?

'Wherever he is, Blaine-' she said softly, '-I'm sure he's safe and having a great time. We know he's alive and with friends. He's fine.'

Blaine wanted to scream, yell that what were the chances of Kurt having a safe home to stay in when half the city was probably homeless, and what about that video, the one which might have made him a target? But his mom, his mom who had been more Mrs. Anderson than Mom for so many years, was trying to comfort him, and that alone was worth smiling for.

Kurt, he thought. Please be safe. Please be somewhere warm and safe and kind. Please have people around who love you and want the best for you. Happy Thanksgiving, Kurt.

Maybe if he thought it hard enough, the thoughts and feeling would transfer across space into Kurt's mind from his. Maybe he could make him feel safe and happy from over here.

Perhaps Kurt was thinking the same thing.

The sudden thought made him smile suddenly, a real smile, and he hugged his Mom for the first time in years.

Kurt wouldn't want him to mope and worry. He'd want him to stay strong. And so Blaine would.

After dinner, they went for the first family walk in years. Blaine hadn't left the house for days, and Kurt wouldn't want that. Kurt wouldn't want him to catch a chill, either, so he wore a warm coat and a scarf Kurt had once given him.

If I do everything he would want me to do, thought Blaine, maybe he'll be safer and happier. It was an illogical notion but a comforting one, so he went with it.

The day after Thanksgiving was bright but windy and cold. Blaine's Mom had invited everyone to come round and 'help eat up the leftovers', of which there were whole tureens and platters full.

Brittany brought with her a huge pile of cookies, a briefcase and a secretive air. The Hummels had a whole pumpkin pie. Karofsky was the biggest surprise- he turned up with a huge, golden, still hot apple pie, sprinkled with melting brown sugar and smelling deliciously of apples and pastry.

'Made it this morning. Couldn't eat it by myself.' he offered shyly, putting it down on the kitchen table.

'I didn't know you cooked, man. That's so cool.' said Sam admiringly, eyes huge as he stared at the giant, crispy pie.

Brittany cleared her throat importantly. 'Can we look into my suitcase now?'

'Uh- briefcase.' said Mr. Anderson, who had probably been lured into the kitchen by the scent of apple pie.

'Whatever.' said Brittany. 'This is important.' She folded her arms and tapped her foot.

So they went into the living room. Brittany opened the briefcase and spread papers over the floor.

'These are newspaper articles from the past days, including online printouts. Also printouts of online comments and blogs. Also magazine articles. Also a very nice picture of my cat.'

They looked, silently, at the piles of paper.

'So… what do they mean?' asked Sam impatiently.

'I'm getting to that part.' said Brittany. 'What Mr. Schue and Mr. Hummel said the day before yesterday was very interesting to me, because I like playing the board game 'Family Fun: Conspiracy' and it sounded a lot like one of the theories.'

She held up a handful of white rectangles of card.

'So I've made the information about the past days into a version of the game. And now I want to play it with you!'

'Are you serious?' asked Finn.

'Yes. This is the first time I have made my own board game. I'm calling it The Incident. Also, I will be filming us playing for my new blog, Brittany's Board Bonanzas. I'm putting the camera here.'

She put a small camera on the mantelpiece.

'Now, let's start. Who's playing?'

'This is a pile of baloney.' said Finn, and turned to go. Sam stopped him.

'Wait. Sometimes she says, like, really unexpected clever stuff, you know? And this is important.'

Brittany beamed as they all sat down and were dealt cards.

'Okay. The person everyone thinks is least intelligent starts. Oh, I start. Yay.'

Blaine, sitting squashed between Finn and Mr. Schue, could practically feel the former rolling his eyes.

'I take a Theory card and have to prove that theory with the facts on the Info sheet. Oh, wait, I need to give you all one.'

She handed everyone an A4 sheet of paper headed 'The Incident- Info'.

'-The Incident occurred on Monday at about 6pm.

-It occurred in New York City.'

-read Blaine. The list went on in tiny print.

'Okay. So I read out my theory, attempt to prove it and then explain what the consequences would be. My theory card says: _The Incident involved bombs laced with a disease such as anthrax as a biological weapon_.'

'I'm going to prove it like this: If it's true, than most New York citizens will have been infected by the large-scale explosion from #1 and #2. Also, if they left the city or anything they touched left the city, the disease could spread. So #13 on my list- no leaving the city- makes sense. The government would want to stop the disease from spreading.

'Also, people would now be falling ill with whatever the disease was. People would write about that and take photos and stuff. So, no Internet and no communication, also #13 on my list, plus videos that may have contained evidence being deleted, #8.

'The disease may have entered the water systems, which would explain #10- disconnection of New York from the water network. And the government would want to avoid panic, explaining #11- the media being cheerful liars.

'And the consequences would be that everyone within the Bubble would die. The government would have to come up with an explanation for that. Also, it may well prove impossible to decontaminate the entire area, so then New York would have to be wiped from the entire nation's memory.'

Brittany sat back, satisfied.

'I think I proved that one real nice, don't you?'

There was a shocked silence. Then Sam said: 'Don't know what's weirder- you talking like that or your theory.'

'Which is impossible.' said Mr. Schue sharply.

'Actually.' Blaine mumbled, feeling rather sick. 'It's possible… from what she said.'

What if it were true? What if Kurt had been the victim of a biological weapon? What if he'd been infected with a deadly disease? What if he were right now-

'Nonsense. It's far too unlikely.'

'Anyways, it's Sam's go now.'

Sam read out his card.

'_The US Government actually directly caused the Incident themselves, possibly to hide the evidence of something_.'

'Ooh, yes.' said Brittany. 'Go on, Sam.'

'Well…' he said hesitantly. 'I suppose… well, if they had, they wouldn't want word to get out. That would explain the Bubble. But that would mean that people in New York had found out. Or- or could find out. Um.'

'You're doing very well.' said Brittany encouragingly.

'Uhm- so that's #13. Also, the Government would have the power, I guess, to stop the media from reporting. Well, I mean, I think they're meant to have free speech or something, but they probably have some way of getting reporters to stop. They'd have, like, power over the newspapers and stuff.

'And if they wanted to hide something- well, it would have to be something pretty huge underneath Brooklyn to be blown up like that. Or… wait….'

Sam looked up at them, frowning.

'Maybe- maybe it's not in New York, whatever they're hiding. Maybe something's happening somewhere else, and they want to distract from it. Perhaps this whole, like, drama with people actually dying and half of New York being blown up was engineered by the US- like, they laid the bombs themselves- so that everyone's attention is on New York and they can do whatever they like somewhere else.'

'Something illegal?'

'Why else would they want to distract us from it?'

'Okay, are you done, Sam? Who's next?'

'Me.' said David softly. 'My card says_: The Incident didn't happen. The whole thing's a scam._'

'Try and prove it, go on.'

'Well- we have pictures and stuff of it, from TV and the internet. But- I guess that could be faked. The main point is, if someone were to deceive the world on that large a scale, they'd have to be really, really powerful. So again, that kinda points towards the government. I guess they could, in theory, have faked the explosion scenes like you would for a film, that wouldn't be too hard, and then put it on TV like it was real.

'And we're already assuming the Government has power over the press in some way, so they could get them to write whatever they wanted. Less easily faked would be all the messages from people, but I'm just remembering- only a very few of the videos we saw showed wreckage, and then it might not have been from a bomb, we can't know. Mostly, we just saw the inside of tents.

'So I guess what I'm saying is, if this whole thing is a scam, then it's to cover up whatever did happen. Something injured people and made people panic and caused rescue services to come in, and if the Government was expecting it, they could have all the fake bombing footage ready in an instant.'

'But- what would have really happened, mate?'

'I don't know. Something really huge and unbelievable, alien-abduction style. Something that's obviously the Government's fault, like a genetically changed- well, I don't know. Something that caused the ground to shake and smoke to form, because that's the only thing we can prove happened, from people's internet messages.'

'Whoah.'

'So what you mean is-' said Mr. Schue, '-that maybe the Government's messed up so bad, caused something so terrible, that they think a terrorist bombing would be less bad and cause less panic, so they've invented one to explain away the panic and smoke and stuff?'

'Yeah. I guess.'

'That's absolute crap.' said Blaine loudly, surprising himself.

Everyone stared at him.

'Look, something's happened in New York, fine. People are trapped there and one day soon, they'll be coming out again. It's not some sort of weird conspiracy, there are no diseases killing them off one by one. _It's a damn BOMBING, guys, that's bad enough by itself without playing this- this stupid GAME to make things worse_!'

He actually shouted the last bit. He knew was staring at him, shocked, but right now he didn't care. All he cared about was that they were making a game of finding horrible, horrible things that could have happened to Kurt. He was having more than enough nightmares already without having to worry about biological weapons and secret conspiracies, damn it!

Before he knew it, he was in his room, curled up on his bed. To his surprise, David Karofsky came up a few minutes later.

'Sorry about that.' said Blaine gruffly.

'Don't be. It was a horrible game.' said Karofsky matter-of-factly.

'Do you think any of those damn _theories_ could be true?'

Karofsky hesitated. 'Well… you have to admit _something's_ up. But I agree that it's not cool to play a game about it. They've stopped now, by the way.'

'Because I yelled at made a fuss like a four-year-old.' muttered Blaine.

'Totally understandably. I didn't want to think about Kurt being killed by diseases or anything, either.'

Blaine was quiet. Karofsky sat down on the chair next to Blaine's desk.

'David- do you still, you know, _like_ Kurt?'

'Not the way I used to, no. But he's my friend now, and I still feel kinda guilty for making him so miserable. Besides, he showed me how to be me and accept myself, and I'm grateful for that. Also, can you keep a secret?'

'Wha- yeah, sure.'

'You know Sebastian? Sebastian Smythe?'

'Yeah… why, are you…? David, are you…?'

'We're… kinda-almost-sorta dating, as the girls call it.'

'Really?'

'Yeah.'

'How long?'

'Couple of weeks. But you know he's not known as a keeper, so… we'll see.'

Blaine knew perfectly well that David was only telling him that to distract him from the game, but he was sort of grateful for it. Besides, it was almost working.

'You like him?'

'Think so, yeah. When he's tired and not concentrating on being a bastard, he can actually be kinda sweet. Don't ever tell him I said that. He'd kill me.'

Blaine laughed.

'Okay.' said David, standing up, 'Shall we go back down and make our way through all that delicious food?'

'Sure thing.' said Blaine, grinning.

But all through the rest of the afternoon and the evening, even as he tried to do what Kurt would want, smile and laugh, he still had that gnawing feeling in the back of his head and a sense of growing dread.

_One of those theories could easily be true. One of those awful things could have happened._

And if so, then the Incident was so much worse and so much bigger than anything they'd ever anticipated.

* * *

If you liked this, please review- hearing reader's thoughts is the best bit about writing and gives me incredible motivation. Thank you! Next chapter – coming soon.

-EcoWarrior


	8. Government Spies

Thank you for bearing with me during my absence. Now I'm back, and I introduce to you several new characters in the next two chapters. They'll be central to the plot, so keep an eye on them. Also, I'm vaguely basing the strange hacker on a guy I know, but only very, very loosely. The one I know is less strange and a lot more awesome.  
To the anonymous reviewer who pointed out how much mention Kurt is getting in comparison to his friends: You're absolutely right, of course. For now, I'm writing from Blaine's point of view and of course the poor guy is basically thinking of no one but Kurt. I'll try tone the pining down before it gets tedious. Rest assured: in a few chapters, Santana and Rachel will return with a vengeance, and I'm planning a pretty big role for them in the ending.  
The Incident, by the way, is still growing in this story, but I can't say more or I'll give the plot away. Just one hint: it's even bigger than any of our characters could have dreamed...

* * *

_He was a janitor, unimportant to those who thought they counted as he could neither read nor write. __Illiteracy had been a job requirement to work here, where the President had so many private meetings. He knew why, of course: they didn't wanting him reading discarded documents, diagrams on boards, hastily-scribbled notes, written recordings of telephone calls and the like. He knew this and still he had the last laugh, because they forgot he was just as intelligent as the next man, maybe more so, just not so well educated. It was something the big men never remembered. Lack of schooling could sharpen the mind and the senses. If you didn't read, you pieced things together other ways. He was allowed to overhear snatches of phone calls and muttered conversations, because he didn't matter to them. No one stopped him from seeing the President's expression, because he wasn't a threat. So he read in his own way the sagas and unfolding stories of emotions.  
Right now, as it had been for more than a week, the ruling emotion was pure, raw terror._

* * *

'I can't believe it's been more than a week already.' said Blaine, frustrated.

He kicked the leg of his desk. It didn't help.

'How can they do this?' he said, for about the fifth time that day. 'How can they not tell us anything for an entire week? And why's nobody doing anything? Why aren't they marching in the streets and shouting? Why- why aren't we all forcing our way through that damn Bubble?'

'People are scared.' said David, with the unending calm he always seemed to have these days. 'No one wants to be the first to protest. The whole thing's too big. It's unnerving.'

Blaine kicked the wooden desk leg again, furiously. He'd been doing that a lot. There was a huge dent in it.

'The president's just hiding, isn't he? I've not heard one thing about him for days. The whole thing stinks.'

The long-suffering desk got another sharp kick. This time, Blaine winced and rubbed his toe.

'What I still don't understand is why Mr. Hummel's not heard anything. He's a Congressman, for Heaven's sake.' said Cooper.

'He got that e-mail telling him, basically, that everything'll be fine and he'd do well to make sure people believe it.' said Blaine dully, falling back on his pillow with a soft, feathery thump.

'But I'd expect emergency meetings of Congress.'

'Yeah, well, whatever top-secret stuff the big guys are involved in, he isn't. He's been trying to get hold of more information, but the bosses have clammed up.' Blaine's fingers were picking at the wallpaper beside his bed, restlessly peeling long strips away. He'd already laid a whole swathe of grey brick bare.

'Short of driving down to New York and trying to get in by force, what can we do?' he asked, mostly to himself.

'Can't even do that.' replied Cooper. 'It's impossible to get hold of gas for the car. Dad checked this morning. They're all out, and no one's delivering.'

He had Blaine's laptop on his knees. They had taken Brittany's game list- while it freaked the hell out of Blaine, she'd done a pretty comprehensive job- and were continuing it. Cooper had developed a kind of obsession, trying to find new things to add.

'And _no one's protesting_.' said Blaine again. 'That's creepy. It's like everyone's pretending nothing happened. I mean, New York's one of the world's major cities. The whole world should be in arms. There's just this silence. I don't _get_ it.'

With a loud _ri-ri-rip,_ another strip of blue paper fell to the bed, where it lay in a perfect curl on the covers. They gazed at it for a moment.

'You know, I think the lack of protest isn't just because people aren't trying.' said Cooper suddenly, breaking the silence. 'I think that when they do try, someone comes down on them hard. I also think I've found a pattern. Look, I did a screen shot of this guy's Twitter page this morning. He was asking people in his Californian area to meet him at some community place to 'discuss the situation'. Now that's been deleted. Obviously someone thought he was going to stir up trouble.'

'What's he written since?'

'Nothing.'

'What, really nothing? Does this guy have Facebook?'

'Yeah. His last post was yesterday evening, unless something's been deleted here, too. Nothing new. Which is weird, because it looks like he usually posts stuff all the time.'

'You think he's being stopped from posting? Why hasn't his account just been deleted?'

Blaine had sat up again, the light of something new to think about shining in his eyes.

'Maybe they realize one of his three thousand plus friends would notice.'

'Coop, do we know anyone who knows enough about IT and the internet to be able to, I dunno, see if there's some kinda pattern here?'

'We would need a real expert.' said Cooper dubiously. 'One who's willing to risk a bit.'

'Wait, I might know a guy.' said Dave, frowning. 'At least, you might. Sebastian mentioned a bloke from Dalton, his distant cousin or something. Maybe Joe, John, something like that? Apparently, he's huge in IT.'

'I might know him, I guess. What else did Sebastian say?'

'This guy got into a bit of trouble for hacking into the Dalton school system and playing around with it. Apparently, he made all those 'loading' bars go backwards, like from 100 down to 0%. And whatever you typed into the word processor, 'you're an idiot' appeared on the page. Some other stuff, too. Oh, and he always wore a shirt with hacking graffiti under the blazer instead of the school one.'

'Yeah, I know who you mean. Josh, that guy was called. Josh Hamilton. We had math together, I think. We can trust him. His e-mail is probably on the old school mail list. Might even still be on my laptop somewhere, that thing's old.'

Cooper found 'Dalton Student E-Mail' and searched 'Hamilton'. It came up as 'joshuah_gerard at hamiltonhouse . com '.

'at hamiltonhouse? What kind of family was he from?'

'Software giants, I think. I hope he still reads mail under that address. Write that we want to meet him here at his convenience. And put a 'please'. That might help.'

They got an answer within ten minutes:

ur lucky I read that. old address. coming asap. prob 30 mins. josh.

* * *

He looked, for want of a better description, like some kind of high-class hacker dude. Which, to be honest, he basically was. White designer jeans, big name but worn and comfortable, simple black print shirt with some white code, maybe HTML but utterly meaningless to the guys, expensive white sunglasses, worn Converse shoes. Blaine caught himself wondering fleetingly what Kurt's verdict would be, and swallowed away the rising longing.

Josh also carried a large case which he opened out onto Blaine's bed, showing two laptops and a confused mass of cables.

'I figured you guys would want something technical from me, so I brought some kit along. Blaine, dude, good to see you. So, what's up?'

Cooper explained- that they thought someone was censoring large parts of the Internet, that they wanted to find out what was happening. Josh listened attentively and seemed particularly interested in the information lists they'd created.  
Cooper showed it to him, together with a database of all the sites he'd got the information from.

Josh gave a low whistle. 'Impressive. You've got quite a collection here.'

He took the laptop and pressed a few keys.

'Wait, the only protection your laptop has is basic McAfee and you're making lists like that?'

'What do you mean? I thought McAfee's pretty good.'

'Yeah, not bad, but no match against Government hackers! If they wanted to, they could just download literally everything off here. They can see all your sites and everything.'

Cooper was pale. 'Hadn't thought of that.' he admitted.

Josh pulled a stack of envelopes out of his case. He flipped through them and pulled one out. There was a minidisc CD inside, which he pushed into the laptop disc drive.

'I'm giving you a version of the security software I wrote myself. Be pleased, very few have this.'

'You're a hacker and you write security software?'

'Sure. Gotta protect myself against other dudes. Especially Government pests. Worse than the cyber cops, these days.'

'Cyber cops?'

'Come on, Anderson. Even _you_ must know that police guys hack and stuff. Not to mention particular private detectives. But the Government- they're the worst. Right, this stuff's downloaded. I think you've been lucky so far. So, who's this dude you think has been blocked?'

Cooper opened the suspect Facebook profile. Josh glanced at it.

'Hmm. I've never heard of this guy. We'll run a search on him. To be safe, we'll do it on my laptop.'

'Why've you got two?'

'Security. One's highly secure, I use the Internet with it. The other one's like a technical Fort Knox only stronger, I keep data on it.'

He got the laptop humming, connected to the Internet and called up Google.

'L. Quince, California. Got him.'

They watched him type things out and mutter under his breath. He was still wearing those sunglasses, pitch black glass in thick white frames. Why was he keeping them on? wondered Blaine.

'Oh, I see why they suspect this guy. He's posted on several political sites, seems to have plenty of opinions and stuff. The dude's only nineteen.'

'We couldn't find a blog or anything.'

'I'm looking.'

After a few minutes of silence, Josh spoke up again.

'I've got a program- wrote it myself- that- well, in layman's terms it searches content for similarities. You know, written tics, similar writing styles, that kind of thing. And I can narrow the search criteria to a pretty near selection. So I'm feeding the Twitter and Facebook accounts in.'

'In case he's posted more content under a different name?'

'And probably on a different machine, but essentially, yes. I can only search fairly specifically, though, because the Internet is pretty huge.'

Josh's screen showed a magnifying glass with round, comical eyes moving over animated file images.

It took about five minutes until it stopped moving, glowed bright green and then vanished, showing a list of potential matches.

'One hundred and twenty three. Not too bad at all, usually I get either none or thousands. Let's have a look at them.'

'So these are blogs and things that could be his?'

'Could be. Let's have a look at them. Hey wait- look at this.'

He had opened a blog named HellToPay. It looked simple and normal enough to Blaine and the others- white background, a simple logo, a few pictures.

Josh pointed to the bottom of the screen, where you could just make out a tiny logo of a strange cartoon eagle.

'I shouldn't be showing you this.' said Josh softly. They looked at him, surprised.

'It's- look, this is getting serious. Can you guys be trusted?'

They nodded, dumbly. He stared at them through his thick sunglasses. Blaine was beginning to find it seriously creepy how the guy wouldn't show his eyes.

'I can't tell you everything, but- you know how you get, like, secret societies and stuff online?'

They nodded again.

'Well, this is like a secret website. It's not the only one, there are whole networks of them, but this one's a really secure one. Only a few people belong to it. You could never find it through search engines or by simply typing in a URL. It's hidden in the Internet.'

'Then how could you find it with your searchy-matchy thing?' asked David sharply.

Josh didn't answer. He just scrolled back up to the top of the page and started to look at what had been written.  
They scanned through the most recent posts.

_'What has made this terrorist attack so much different from 9/11? Why all the secrecy? Why block off a huge city? And the biggest question of all: why is nobody complaining? We have the Internet to communicate with, but political activists keep quiet and human rights people have nothing to say. Who are we scared of? (read more)'_

_'Someone has something to hide here. Something's wrong, big style. The papers are lying and the Internet's gone quiet. This is wrong. Why is the Government treating us like sheep, to be lied to and led? Mr. President, you can't keep your precious Bubble in place for ever. Sooner or later, we'll see what you're hiding. (read more)'_

_'I'm beginning to see why nobody's protesting. I've worked out the cause of the silence. Read this, all you who visit: BLOGS ARE BEING SHUT DOWN! ACCOUNTS ARE BEING DELETED! I found a few other guys who were daring to raise their voice. Now they're all gone, before I could contact them. WILL IT BE ME NEXT? (read more)'_

_'This blog is under high security. You know that, because you're reading it. I'm speaking to you, member of this site. We're meant to remain anonymous. We're not meant to reveal our membership. But someone or something is targeting people who worry about the Terrorist Incident and deleting them from the Internet. I discovered something today, and this will be my last blog post because I'm no longer safe. But I'm telling you, because someone has to know, and I beg you to act on it. Google isn't showing search results that involve suspect material! GOOGLE IS IN ON THE CONSPIRACY! Facebook is reporting suspect behavior! Most of the larger websites have become spies to whoever is the mastermind behind the Bubble. DO NOT POST MATERIAL ON THE REGULAR INTERNET! You will be found. ONLY USE SECURE SITES! But, I beg you, DO SOMETHING!'_

The page came to an end. Blaine shuddered. If this was L. Quince, then he was desperate. Practically hysterical.

'He's absolutely terrified for his life.' said Josh, sounding suddenly different. No longer was he slightly superior and acting the cool hacker- now, he was much more normal, even scared.

'You didn't answer me when I asked you how you know about this site.' said David, persisting.

'Because I belong to it.' replied Josh, resignedly.

'Is it legal?'

'An almost undetectable site which no government can scan and is used for criminal activity? You bet it's not. Most things allowing freedom are prohibited, these days.'

Blaine had only heard one thing. 'Criminal activity? Dude, are you some kind of-'

'I'm a hacker! We all dabble! I'm not involved in anything big! I'm not a bad guy! But now some secret organization is taking over the whole bloody Internet and these sites are the only safe ones left! Did you read what that guy wrote? The big sites are all spies. This is huge, maybe the hugest thing in Internet history, and we've just discovered it. Whatever terrified that guy is going to be terrifying us pretty soo-'

He hadn't finished the sentence when, quite suddenly, several things happened at once. The laptop screen flashed, Josh swore and lunged at his laptop, Blaine's laptop showed an Internet Failed message and Josh tore the battery out of his machine, flinging it onto to bed.

'What the hell…?' said Cooper, leaping out of the way.

But Josh's panic-stricken face behind the sunglasses told them all they needed to know. Something had gone badly wrong.

They were in trouble.

* * *

Good, bad, mediocre? Is the Internet stuff just boring or does it have potential? (I had to find some way of answering Blaine's questions, and the Internet theory fit best). And why do you think Josh won't remove the sunglasses?

Reviews make my day. EcoWarriorX


	9. Leaving Home

Hey guys!

Here's Chapter 9. Blaine and his friends leave Lima in an attempt to track down the Internet Guy. They think he has information on the Bubble, and they're desperate to know... Meanwhile, the Janitor makes a return.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favourite and followed. Don't forget to share your thoughts with me!

* * *

_There was a room in his workplace. It was hard to clean, because it was full of computer screens from floor to ceiling, which attracted the dust like magnets. The President himself rarely went in here. This was the domain of the quiet men, the young ones with pale faces and scruffy beards. They used to be a jokey lot, wearing humorous t-shirts and drinking Cola by the gallon. Now they were paler than ever and worn. It seemed as though they had been forced to do something impossible. Whatever it was, it was wearing them out. They spent days on end holed up in the room with the screens, typing at keyboards and swearing at him when he went in to clean. They were in communication with the police force, too, sending pages and pages of words with blurred pictures of faces. Some of the faces had a large green tick next to them. Others had a vivid red cross. The janitor wasn't stupid, not by a long shot, even though he only kept this job by pretending to be.  
He certainly knew enough to fear for the people behind the cross-marked faces._

* * *

Josh was explaining the situation to them.

'That site is no longer safe, and that's pretty huge, because it's the most protected site I know. Whoever it is has blocked it off and then tried to trace our whereabouts, because we were connected to it. I'm pretty sure they weren't successful, though. We no longer have access to that blog, but I can try and find out the address of the writer.'

'How, if everything's so top secret?' queried David.

'I have a friend of a friend who may have the right connections. I'll see if I can get hold of him.'

It was amazing, watching Josh at work. Within half an hour of calling people on his cell, searching the Internet and messaging more people with cautiously coded texts, he had the address of their mystery person. And, to their nervous delight, it was only a few hours' drive away.

'How can we be sure, though, that the bad guys haven't got the address too?' asked Cooper.

'We can't. Simple as that.'

'What're we going to do now, then?' said Cooper.

'Well, I don't know what you're intending to do, but I'm damn well going to drive down there and find out what that guy knows.' said David. Blaine nodded firmly.

Josh hesitated. 'It could be dangerous. If the- we can't keep calling them the 'bad guys', let's say 'Organization X' or something. If _they've_ found out where the guy lives who found out so much about them- I'm not sure we can risk it-'

'Don't be such a coward.' said David loudly, standing up.

They turned to him in surprise. Blaine couldn't remember hearing him raise his voice in months.

'I mean it.' snapped David. 'We're talking about the lives of millions here, all trapped in that God-damned Bubble. And this thing is huge, it's taking over our lives. I'm not just gonna sit here and do nothing now I finally have the chance to DO SOMETHING!'

He sat down again, breathing heavily. They stared at him in shock.

'Sorry.' he mumbled. 'It's just- I've been really worried, you know? I mean, I know people in New York. I want to be sure they're safe.' He looked embarrassed at his sudden outburst, but Blaine understood.

'I agree.' he said huskily, thinking of Kurt again. 'I- I want to go too. If you don't want to come-' he added, turning to Josh and Cooper, '-David and I'll do it alone. I have to know what this guy has to say. I _have_ to.'

Josh was silent, his face buried in his hands, obviously thinking it over, weighing the dangers against his thirst for information.

'Fine.' he said heavily, raising his head. 'Fine. I'll come with you. You'll need me, anyway, and I got you the damned address.'

'Cooper?' said Blaine pleadingly.

Cooper looked at him. 'You honestly want me to help you track down an on-the-run internet criminal to question him about secrets he may or may not have about a large-scale internet crime the Government may be behind?'

'We don't know if he's a criminal.' protested Blaine, whilst David said: 'Basically, yeah.'

Blaine saw Cooper and Josh exchange a long glance.

'You're going to have to agree anyway, or I'll never forgive you.' warned Blaine, not even joking. 'For Kurt? Please?'

Cooper was scared, and Blaine knew it. _He_ was scared, too, for that matter. Last week, he'd been singing and dancing at Glee club as usual. It felt like a lifetime away, like it had been a totally different guy, even. One who didn't know about fear, and devastation, and pain, and helplessness. But now he finally had something active he could do, even if it meant putting himself in danger.

As always unwilling to admit defeat, Cooper finally nodded. 'Fine. I'll come, little bro.' he said, making a visible effort to appear jokey instead of just plain terrified. Blaine gave him a tight smile.

The next question was how to get there. Driving would be pretty hard, as there was so little gas around, and they were going to need quite a bit. It was Cooper, in the end, who found a friend willing to part with a large amount of fuel for an exorbitant price. They drove Cooper's car over and put the containers of gas in the back.

Blaine checked the amount and glanced at Cooper. He saw his brother's look of worry and knew that he had noticed the same thing: they had fuel enough to get there, but not back again.

They would have to try and find some way of getting back home.

It proved easy to come up with a plausible excuse for their absence. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson were worried enough about Blaine so as to be relieved when Cooper said he was 'taking my bro away to get his mind off things a bit.' They assumed a trip to a friend, maybe from another show choir or something.

David's parents, David told Blaine quietly, would probably not even _notice_ his absence because he'd been at the Anderson's so much. He left them a note just in case, saying that he was staying with a friend.

As for Josh, nobody knew for sure whether the guy even lived with his parents.

They weren't sure what to take- they didn't know how long they were going to be away or what they would need. So they settled for some technical equipment and a large supply of food and drinks.

Their departure was very quiet. For obvious reasons, Blaine felt that it was best not to make a huge fuss of it. Far better slip away quietly. After all, there was no knowing when they'd be back.

For this reason, he felt another pang of nerves as they pulled out of the Anderson drive for the last time in- who could tell?

Empty road after empty road met them as they left Lima and turned west. Without gas, no one could drive far, so most residents were forced to share one car among many to save fuel, cramming in far more passengers than seats. This meant about one fifth as many cars on the roads.

When they reached the Interstate, Blaine realized that it had been weeks since he'd left Ohio, maybe months. And now he was off to try and find a cyber criminal or something… it felt surreal. When would he see his home state again? _Would_ he see his home state again?_ Don't think like that_.

At first, David tried to keep a conversation going, but the atmosphere was too tense. He gave up and took to staring out of the side window instead.

The hours crawled by, and Blaine's fear grew. Supposing 'Organization X' really was the government? He felt sure it was. But then what if the address they were heading for was an elaborate trap? What if they were driving straight into the clutches of some secret government section? What could happen to them? Where they actually breaking any laws? Surely not, so then surely they were safe.

But if their suspicions were correct, then the Government itself was not upholding the law. It couldn't be legal to block off large parts of the Internet and threaten users, could it? Deleting anything that wasn't to their own taste had to be wrong, too. So if they were already bending the law, what _couldn't_ they do?

In fact, thought Blaine fearfully, his stomach clenching- if 'Organization X' was prepared to stoop to isolating New York, and if they had the power to do so- what could they do to Blaine and his friends, who were trying to rebel?

And an even worse thought crept into his mind. _What if they did something to Kurt to keep you from talking?_ Torture, maybe… or worse…

He shook his head, trying to block out those thoughts. He was scared enough, he didn't need this.

The last few hours ticked away faster and faster, until the final half hour flew by in what felt like minutes. It felt like moments after they left the Interstate that Cooper, following Josh's instructions, pulled up inside a dirty car park.

'He should live just around the corner.' said Josh in a low voice.

'OK.' whispered Blaine back.

He didn't know why they were speaking so softly- were they afraid of being overheard?- but somehow, the thought of talking loudly scared him.

The butterflies in his stomach had turned into large, horrible rats, He was so terrified he felt physically sick.

This was it. They were going to find the guy who had first aroused their suspicions- or they were going to walk into a trap.

They walked out of the car park and down the block, past a deserted play park, a small supermarket and a run-down church. The area was truly dilapidated, crude graffiti sprayed on every available surface and trash littering the street.

They passed a bunch of teenagers who eyed them from beneath hooded jackets, passing a cigarette amongst themselves as they did so. An elderly woman carried a huge bag of shopping through the doorway of a block of apartments, of which several windows were smashed. Obviously, vandalism was rampant here.

A turn around the corner led them to a long street with rows of identical, dull grey apartment buildings towering up into the equally grey sky. It was overcast, and rain was already beginning to drizzle down onto the streets.

'Number 426.' muttered Josh as they passed an overflowing dumpster outside No. 390. They were fairly near.

Blaine nearly tripped over a moth-eaten-looking cat, which hissed at him, fur on end, and stalked behind an overturned wheelie bin. Another cat sat on a windowsill as they walked by, staring at them unblinkingly. It had half an ear missing and several scars across its face. It looked, in fact, like one hard fighter.

They found No. 426. It was a tall, thin, grey building exactly the same as all the others around it, distinguishable only by the battered number sign.

The front door was already open a crack; Blaine had a quick look at it and realized that the lock was broken. He felt a thrill of foreboding- it was like someone had left it open, ready for them to enter. Maybe someone _had_ left it open for them. Maybe someone was waiting.

Inside, the building was just as tired-looking as the outside. Kurt would have hated the unpleasant green walls and the eerie emergency lighting, thought Blaine. The entrance hall was windowless, making it feel like a prison.

Still following Josh's scribbled address, they passed a sign reading 'Lift out of Order' and began to climb the stairs. Up four floors, then along a corridor smelling unpleasantly of human pee.

Josh stopped outside Apartment 4f and, raising a trembling hand, rapped quickly against it with his knuckles.

They waited, tensely, but nothing happened. After a moment, he knocked again.

Then a high, quavering voice spoke behind him.

'If you're looking for Luke, you won't find him here.'

Blaine spun around. An elderly woman, not unlike the one they'd seen before, stood in the doorway of the apartment opposite.

She was bent over almost in two and wheezing. Blaine wondered, fleetingly, how she ever managed the four flights of steps.

'What do you mean?' asked Josh quickly, his voice slightly higher than usual.

'I mean, he's gone. Left yesterday. I asked him why he was going but all he would say was that someone was after him.'

'Where did he go?' asked Blaine.

'You think I would tell you that? For all I know, you're the ones after him.' She gave a strange, toothless smile but it didn't reach her ancient grey eyes.

'No. They- they might be after us, too.' said Blaine. 'The people after him, I mean.'

'In that case, you'd better come in.' she said. 'Not, of course, that I'm sure I even believe you.'

She stepped inside her apartment and gestured for them to follow.

Blaine hesitated and looked at the others. They looked back at him, nervously. But they'd come all this way, and what did they have to lose?

_Apart from our health, our sanity, our lives-_

Shutting off the terrible thoughts, he resolutely followed her in.

* * *

They say reviews make the world go round, and ya know what? I agree. Especially if it's constructive criticism or friendliness.

So please tell me what you're thinking in the little box below!


	10. Going Downhill Fast

Hey guys!

Here it is- the next chapter. Thank you as always for reading, reviewing and favoriting.

To the reviewer who asked when we get back to Kurt's POV: Right now, I'm using the lack of his view to symbolise how blocked-off he is. Also, I don't yet want you guys to know what _is_ going on behind the Bubble, because that'll give the game away. I brought in the Janitor to bring a little variety rather than just Blaine all the time. Don't worry, though; it's not long now and Kurt, Santana, Rachel return- for better or worse...

Enjoy!

* * *

_One of the harassed-looking tech guys came out of the room with all the computer screens and walked quickly down the corridor, muttering wildly under his breath with his arms full of papers. He pushed roughly past the janitor and his trolley, not even seeming to notice him in his evident preoccupation. As the young man continued on down the passage, the janitor noticed a piece of paper lying on the floor, stark white against grey linoleum. Curious, he bent down and picked it up. The side facing up was blank, but the other side showed a picture of a young man with large, pale eyes and a bright smile. He looked cheerful and carefree. In the background, the janitor could just make out a library full of books.  
But next to the picture was a large, bright red cross, slicing across the white paper and part of the picture itself and spelling the young man's doom. The janitor shuddered, and was about to follow the man and give it back when he paused and stared intently at the red mark. After a moment, he carefully slid the sheet of paper under a pile of cleaning utensils on his trolley. He wasn't sure why, but something made him want to keep it hidden._

* * *

The dreary, dull surroundings had made Blaine expect an equally drab apartment, but the room the woman led them into surprised him.

It was a small living room, cozy and warm. Three plump armchairs and a flowery couch were crammed around a tiny coffee table of polished wood. Together, they almost filled up the whole room. The little space left was filled with random knickknacks and photographs of smiling children.

It was a huge contrast not only to the grey exterior, but also to the serious, unsmiling woman who had brought them in here. Something about her somber demeanor just didn't fit to the cheerful décor.

They were told to sit down, so David and Cooper wedged themselves onto the couch whilst Blaine and Josh perched uneasily on the armchairs. Their unexpected host disappeared through a side door near Blaine, leaving them alone and nervous. Was this the trap they had been so nervous of? Who was this woman?

Blaine strained to hear something through the door. To his astonishment, he was fairly sure he could hear the rattling of cups. He shared a blank look with the others. What was going on?

The door opened again, and the woman came back through bearing cups and pots on a tea tray so huge it dwarfed her by comparison. Blaine, being the nearest, automatically stood up to help her by taking it and putting it safely down on the coffee table.

She looked at him, startled at his helpfulness; then broke into the first true smile they'd seen on her face. It made an amazing difference- for that brief moment, she looked friendly and kind. 'Thank you, dear.' she said.

'You're welcome.' said Blaine, seating himself again. Somehow, that smile had made him feel a little more at ease, though the tense, nervous feeling remained.

'I'm afraid I only have coffee, because I never did drink tea.' she told them apologetically. 'But I have fresh milk and sugar.'

She gestured to a little flowered milk jug and a matching sugar bowl sitting neatly on the tray.

Blaine shared a _what?_ look with the others. Of all the possible outcomes of meeting an unknown person where they suspected a trap, drinking coffee with said unknown person was _not_ what they'd expected.

'Poisoned coffee?' mouthed Cooper from behind the old lady's back, an eyebrow raised.

Somehow, Blaine didn't think so. He wasn't sure whether or not to trust this woman completely, but that brief smile had been genuine. He gave his head an almost imperceptible shake, and mouthed 'No.' back at Cooper as the woman sat down and looked round at them.

'So where are you kids from?' she asked.

Blaine bristled slightly at the 'kids', then realized what a startling question that was from someone who could be a spy. Although- did he still believe that she was? He wasn't sure.

'Uh, we're from a pretty small town near here.' said David cautiously.

She gestured for them to help themselves to the coffee, which admittedly smelled wonderful. After another shared nervous look, they picked up a mug each and took a small sip.

It was, as a slight anticlimax, just very nice coffee, not too sweet and not too strong. Blaine felt himself anxiously tasting for anything strange, and then realized he was being ridiculous. He didn't even know what poison tasted like, after all. How was he meant to recognize it?

When no sudden feelings of nausea or dizziness hit him, he bravely started drinking properly.

He was feeling more confused than ever. Assuming that 'Luke' was the guy they were looking for, this woman obviously knew something about his whereabouts, maybe even what had happened to him. Was she willing to tell them? She must have had some reason for inviting them in. Assuming she really was just a neighbor and not some member of 'Organization X', had this Luke maybe told her to look out for people who had read that last, desperate blog entry? Was she going to help them?

'So, uh, can you tell us anything about Luke?' asked David.

Blaine looked up, surprised; he had been expecting to have to ask that himself.

'I know plenty about Luke, I've known him for a good while now.' she said, with another strange smile. 'But I don't know anything about you. Are we going to trust each other?'

It was a surprisingly frank question, and a necessary if difficult one. How, after all, could they trust this strange person they had never met before when they weren't even certain they could trust the one they were looking for?

'We might as well give trust a go.' said David briskly. That guy really wanted answers, Blaine realized.

'Then tell me about yourselves.'

It was a command barely masked by the gentleness with which she spoke. This time, Blaine replied.

'We're- concerned, I guess. About Luke and- and stuff he may know. Important stuff. About- big things.' He spoke awkwardly, worried about saying too much.

She smiled encouragingly. 'I'm a little more up to trusting you now, if that makes you feel any better.'

Blaine realized that his palms were sweating with tension. This was intense, even though she looked so harmless. He could only see two outcomes of this: either she was helpful and told them about Luke, or she was a spy of some sort, in which case they were done for.

'Anything else you can tell me?' Was she nervous as well?

'Yes.' croaked Blaine. 'This is really, really important to us.' The admission hung in the room.

Then she clapped her wrinkled hands and smiled another real smile.

'That's enough for me.' she said. 'I'm willing to talk to you. I believe you're on our side.'

'Then tell us, please.' said David desperately.

'All in good time, my lad. First, I have to introduce you to someone. You can come in!' She called the last bit loudly in the direction of the kitchen door.

After an astonished moment, it opened and the 'someone' came in.

He was about their age, quite short but not as short as Blaine. He looked sincere and friendly, the only odd thing about him being how very pale his eyes were. But his smile was warm and genuine, if slightly uneasy.

'Hi.' he said briefly. 'I'm Luke Quince.'

They goggled at him for a moment, dumbfounded. He'd been just behind that door all the time! This was the person behind that panicked blog entry, the guy they'd been searching for!

'Luke, nice to meet you, um, I'm Blaine.' he stammered nervously.

'Uh, we read your blog.' added David. 'We thought- that is, we wondered if you know something.'

Josh spoke up. Blaine jumped; the boy had been so silent, he'd almost forgotten he was there.

'You seemed to have discovered a large-scale scam or something. We figured it was connected to what happened in New York.'

The old woman stood up. 'I'll leave all you boys to talk, then.' she said. 'I'll be next door if anyone wants more coffee.'

Luke took her place.

'I'm glad you've come.' he said. 'I hoped so much that someone would come across that message. I'm being followed, which is why I'm not in my apartment anymore.'

'Is this really the best place to hide? The apartment next door?' queried Cooper.

'Who would guess it? Me staying with the possibly insane neighbor? Nah, dude, they think I've fled to California. I left a note on my kitchen table saying I'd gone to stay with a friend, and when they came to search- they left again. I think they believed it.'

'Who's 'they'?' asked David eagerly. 'That's what we really want to know.'

Luke leaned forward. They moved closer.

'It's the US government.' he said softly.

David punched the air. 'I knew it!' he hissed. 'All that Bubble stuff, all the rest of it- I knew only the President and his pals have powers that huge.'

'Yeah, well, it's not just the real world, either, dude. They're taking over the virtual world, too.'

'We figured.' said Josh grimly. 'After what you wrote about Google and Facebook. Plus, they've closed down your blog host.'

'Really? A site that secure? Then it's even worse than I thought, and that's saying loads.'

'So what have you worked out so far?' asked Blaine.

Luke took a few deep breaths, obviously calming himself down.

'You know The Incident?' he said. 'You know that almost immediately after it happened, most photographic evidence was deleted from the Internet? Not just from the bigger sites, either; from more obscure ones, too. And the Bubble was put in place very quickly. Well, that's where I got suspicious. I mean, one of the world's major cities gets isolated completely and not one damn person says a word?

'So I took to the Internet and started searching. And I found that comments mentioning the Bubble in a negative way or even just questioning it were being deleted from Facebook and the other social networks. The first few days you got it a lot. People would write something about 'how can they do this?' and five minutes later the comment would be gone. Then it got less and less. The comments just stopped. I wondered, are these people just giving up because they know someone's scanning what they write, or are these dudes actually being threatened?

'So I set up a few Facebook and Twitter accounts, and I threw around a few comments of the 'what's going on behind the Bubble?' sort. At first, they just vanished. Then, after a while, I got messages saying something along the lines of: Your behavior is inappropriate and causing panic amongst citizens. Cease spreading rumors immediately or you will have to deal with the consequences.

'These messages were unsigned but looked very official. It wasn't like I'd even been spreading rumors, just asking questions. Anyhow, I dived down into the hidden sites. At first, they were pretty safe. I could message other dudes without it being censored, and I found several who were thinking the same sort of stuff I was. Thing is, after a few days, they stopped writing back. One by one, it was like they had been swallowed by the Internet.

'I also realized that searches on Google for 'Bubble criticism' and things like that turned up no results. Instead, someone started trying to hack into my laptop. I was being targeted because of what I'd searched. Finally, I made the idiotic mistake a few days ago of posting 'inappropriate' comments on my own, real Facebook page instead of a fake one. Fatal mistake, obviously, because now they know who I really am. Then I get this threatening message on my actual laptop, when I wasn't even on the Internet. It showed my name and my address and told me I was being watched and my behavior was being monitored.

'Well, I kind freaked out then. I got my other laptop and went onto my blog and just wrote. Then I fled my apartment and came to hide out with Mrs. G. I was worried that, whatever had happened to those other guys, it was going to happen to me next. And sure enough, yesterday cops came. At least, they looked like cops. But they've gone now.'

The room was silent for a moment. Then David voiced their thoughts. 'Wow.' he said, 'that's really-'

His voice broke off. Startled, Blaine looked at him. David was staring over Blaine's shoulder, his eyes widened with fear.

Slowly, Blaine turned around, and find himself staring into the muzzle of a gun.

* * *

A review a day keeps depression away... and gets creative juices flowing. So go on, who d'you reckon is holding that gun?


	11. Missing

Hey guys,

here's the next instalment. Thank you all for reviewing and favoriting!

* * *

_For the rest of the day, the janitor would find his mind wandering back to the piece of paper. He was pretty sure he hadn't saved anyone by hiding it, as the young man's name would be in the system databases. So why had he bothered? He had no answer.  
When he went home in the evening, he took it with him, slipping it out from the trolley and under his coat instead. The face intrigued him. He was sure he'd never seen it before, but there was something about the happiness it showed that unnerved him.  
Did this guy know he was about to be killed? Was he even aware that he was, presumably, being traced? And what had he done, anyway?  
The janitor knew, had known for weeks, that something wrong, possibly evil was happening in the building. Maybe this young, smiling face, the bright red cross artificially superimposed on it, had rebelled against it._

Blaine could feel the hard gun in the small of his back as he was pushed out of the building and into a waiting vehicle. It was evening now, and the sky had darkened considerably, but he could just make out the shape of another, into which Josh, Cooper and maybe Mrs. G. were being pushed.  
He found himself sitting on a bench in the dark back of the vehicle. There was a metal cage-like wall between this area and the actual seats.

He felt a body falling onto him and thought he recognized David's grunt. Luke was roughly shoved in after. Then the doors slammed.

'Blaine? Is that you?' whispered David's voice softly.

'Yeah. Luke?'

'I'm here. Damn, dudes, I'm sorry. I don't even know your names.'

'I'm Blaine. This is David. Where the hell do you think we're going?'

'Hell, I don't know. Some secret jail or something? _What was that?_' The last came sharply.

'My cell vibrating.' breathed David. 'Mercifully the thing's on silent.'

With a lot of effort, he extricated the device from his pocket. Blaine moved his body so that the guards, who had got into the front of the vehicle, couldn't see the glow.

'Sebastian!'

Blaine felt a giddy rush. If they could just get a message to the others...

'Sebastian-' David was whispering, '-go to the Anderson's now. Give them this address.' Luke muttered the address and David repeated it. 'Tell them- we've been taken, we're being driven away in vehicles, it's the government-'

At that moment, the engine started up with a deafening roar. Any further chance of hearing words was gone. From what Blaine could see of David's screen, he also no longer had any bars. All they could do was fervently pray that Sebastian had heard enough to understand and pass the message on.

As the bus or whatever it was pulled away and set off down the road, Blaine tried to make out the shapes beyond the bars. He was fairly sure he could see four shadowy figures, one of whom was driving, but he couldn't make out any sort of detail. One thing was strange, though- if they'd just come to pick up Luke, why had they brought four men in this vehicle and presumably the same in the other? It didn't make sense. Had they _expected_ to find Blaine and his friends there too?

He tried to feel which direction the car was heading, but soon there had been so many left and right turns that he had no chance of remembering. After quite a while, they hit what was presumably a bigger road and started travelling at a higher speed. The engine noise grew.

He was terrified, much more so even than this morning. This was the worst-case scenario unfolding, and he was sure it was going to get worse still. Also, he was starting to need a pee. He wished he'd gone back at Mrs. G.'s apartment.

The engine's deafening rumble didn't help.

His hopes of it at least being a short journey were dashed as the hours crawled by. He wondered what was going on back home, whether Sebastian had passed on the message. Even if he had, fuel was hard to come by, so their friends couldn't just leap into the car and follow. That was assuming he had understood the whispered address correctly.

David was, to Blaine's surprise, humming, just audible over the roar of the engine. He'd been doing that a lot lately. Perhaps it was his way of dealing with stressful situations. It was a good idea, too.

Blaine tried to make out the tune. Was that… yes, it was _Highway to Hell_. Only David could think up something like that. For a moment, Blaine forgot his terror and almost grinned. Well, anything to forget the horror of the situation.

He joined in. When David realized, they split up the song: Blaine hummed the singing parts and David hummed the guitar riffs, quite skillfully, too.

Luke's eyes stared at them through the dark as though they were mad, and maybe they were. But the music helped Blaine to relax a little, to realize that right now, there was nothing he could do save let the situation unfold and not go mad. Also, it helped him forget that he needed the bathroom.

It was a pretty good way of reckoning time, too- on average, three or four songs took about ten minutes to hum. After _Highway to Hell_ came the _Bohemian Rhapsody_, which David managed brilliantly. He'd obviously had a lot of practice.

One of the men in the front turned around to see two guys going 'MAMA… oooooh oooooh…'

They could just see his dumbfounded face in the half-dark, seemingly considering whether or not they were sane. He held a brief, whispered conference with the man next to him, and Blaine was fairly sure he caught the phrase '- on drugs?'

Let them think whatever they want, he thought recklessly, and plunged right into the theme tune of _Star Wars_.

By the time they had hummed their way through most theme tunes they could remember, including _Jaws_, _Harry Potter_ and _E.T._- Blaine had always admired John Williams- it was one in the morning. Apart from really wanting to go to the bathroom, Blaine was also getting tired. He had never known you could slur your humming, but halfway through the _Phantom of the Opera_ his tiredness showed him you could.

David gradually fell silent and, after a while, drifted off to sleep. Luke, who had presumably had several sleepless nights from hiding, was already snoring. The men in the front, however, remained alert and awake, guns in hand.

Blaine began to notice how cold it was in the back. He was leaning right against the metal wall, which seemed to be directly transferring the freezing night air into his back. He was wearing a coat, but still he shivered.

They say that the coldest hour is the one just before sunrise, and as that time crept nearer, Blaine began to feel that the saying must be right. His fingers were chilled to the bone, and his breath was forming clouds in the air.

He wished David and Luke were still awake. They'd made it more… more bearable… more…

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, the vehicle had jerked to a halt and, with a judder, the engine shut off. The terrible noise he had almost stopped noticing was replaced by a ringing silence.

How long had he been asleep? The lit-up dial of his watch told him it was half past five.

He heard doors open and men get out. Then a blast of freezing night air hit him in the face as the back of the bus was opened. A man holding a torch in one hand and a gun in the other stood outside.

'Out.' he said brusquely, shining the beam in Blaine's eyes. Blinded by the light and following a sleepy David, he clambered awkwardly out and nearly fell onto the ground.

He had thought it cold _inside_ the van, but_ outside_, where an icy wind blew, it was positively arctic. He was pretty sure he'd never been this cold in his life.

Worse than the cold, though, was the fear seeping through him. In the middle of the night he'd had that brief, musically induced feeling of calm; now it was gone, replace by sheer panic.

He looked around, trying to get a bearing of their whereabouts, but it was pitch black outside the torch beams. He could hear the wind whipping tree branches and he could hear no cars. Out in the country, then.

'Walk.' said the armed man, giving him a prod from behind. Stumbling and slipping in mud, or maybe ice, he followed the broad back of David, which he could barely see.

There were lights up ahead, glittering between trees. Blaine wasn't sure whether to be relieved at the sight of them, as the cold was growing unbearable, or terrified, because of whatever it was that awaited them there.

He tried to look around for the others- Cooper, Josh or even Mrs. G.- but he could see no one, and when he turned his head, he received another sharp prod from the man behind.

It took them maybe fifteen minutes to walk up to the lights, but it felt like hours to him. He kept tripping on roots or branches or something, and his fingers and toes were growing numb with the cold. Every breath of icy air hurt his lungs, and when he exhaled, the warm vapor froze on his face before being whipped away by the wind.

He tried to remember any landmarks, anything by which he could remember where they were, but it was too dark and the combination of fear and cold was sapping his concentration.

Finally, they staggered up to an open door and were pushed roughly in. Blaine appeared to have been the last, for the man behind him closed the door.

In here, there was dim lighting. Blaine blinked at the return of his sight, and saw a very long corridor with blank, unlabeled doors leading off it. David and Luke were already being herded along it, but there was no sign of the others. His fear grew even more as he wearily dragged his feet behind the others.

He was put in a room by himself and his cell phone, which had no bars anyway, was taken off him.

The room seemed to be a partitioned-off cell of a larger room. The walls, which did not quite reach the fairly low ceiling, were made of grey concrete. There was a metal bench, presumably to act as a bed, covered in a thin, worn blanket.

Where the hell was he? And now he really, really needed the bathroom. Where were the others? His tired, aching brain seemed unable to process what had happened yesterday. They'd gone off to try and find the guy who knew something- that was Luke. And now they'd been- what? Kidnapped? Arrested? Was this what a prison cell looked like? Surely not.

He sat on his bench and stared blankly into space. His watch told him that it was now nearly six o'clock. What was going on back home? If Sebastian had got the message, his parents would be frantically trying to find him and Cooper.

Cooper. He hadn't seen him since they'd been taken. Where was he? Was he even being taken to this place, or was he somewhere completely different? Or had he been- no, Blaine wasn't even going there.

Finally, the gate to his tiny area opened. A short guy, armed with a huge gun almost bigger than himself, took Blaine to the bathroom and brought him back again. He was handed a bowl of something- thicker than soup but smoother than stew, and the same grey color as the walls.

Wondering if it was poisoned, and realizing that it was the second time in as many days he'd worried about that, he ate it. It seemed to be made of some sort of cheap grain. Still, at least they didn'T seem to want to starve him.

He looked around his, well, cell-thing, considering. The concrete walls formed a small hexagon. He tapped them. They sounded pretty thick. His bench along one wall was much too short to lie on; in fact, the entire hexagon was too small for lying down in. If he had to sleep, he'd need to curl up.

Standing precariously on the bench he could reach the top of the walls. There was half a yard or so between them and the ceiling. Was this a huge room full of hexagons? If it was, then from on top it would look like some kind of weird honeycomb. His stomach clenched at the thought of who else might be trapped in here, and what might be happening to them.

He listened for sounds of anyone else. He thought he could hear breathing and- was that humming? Was David really, honestly humming _Mamma Mia_?

By the sound of it, he wasn't in a neighboring hexagon but one farther off. Even so, Blaine wanted him to know he was here.

He gave a loud, experimental hum, then joined in with David, who hummed louder in reply. Blaine was fairly sure they weren't allowed to talk to each other, but this was not talking in the stricter sense. He was so relieved to know that David was nearby that he forgot anyone else might be there.

Finally, a tired voice from the hexagon in between them said: 'Knock it off, you. You're getting on my nerves.' It wasn't a voice Blaine recognized. Obviously, others had been taken too.

'Sorry.' he heard David call.

Then a groping hand appeared on the other side of his hexagon.

* * *

Any thoughts or comments? Who do you think owns the hand?


End file.
